


A Wolf in Raven's Clothing

by captainenvy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship/Love, Multi, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 76,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainenvy/pseuds/captainenvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark lost everything : home, family, even her life. Left to rise from her ashes, Alayne Stone will take her revenge on those who have wronged her.<br/>The Hotel L'Oiseau is known for its magnificence and for its debauchery, for its parties, the drugs, the power; and it will be Alayne's hunting ground as she makes her way to ensnare her ultimate prey, the boy who started it all : Joffrey Baratheon.<br/>But she will not be alone to seek revenge, as she soon learns: unexpected participants will want to play the game, joining her pack against the Lannisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. // EXODUS 21:24

Two years.  
It had been two long, arduous years since the Starks all died. All in a single line, murdered one by one in front of eyes, her house burnt down to hide all evidence. All four of her siblings and her two parents killed, all of them in a gruesome manner. Only Sansa had survived to be taken hostage and played with, but even Sansa was no longer, now.  
It was Alayne that survived and fled. It was Alayne that still lived, and Alayne that thrived. A beautiful raven haired young woman with legs that never ended and eyes that pierced you to your very core, who wore gorgeous gowns made of the finest velvet and silks, and whose past remained a mystery to all. Alayne was smart, and cunning, and ruthless, and most of all, Alayne was charming, something that helped her greatly these past two years.  
Sansa had been a lady with royal blood, groomed by her parents to be the new Cersei Lannister; but Alayne was no one to nobody, except in the famous Hotel _L’Oiseau_.

  
The Hotel was famous for being the most luxurious place in all of King’s Landing, outshining its palace, the amazing houses in the Red Keep –King’s Landing’s home to the richest – and even Lannister Mansion. It was a gorgeous old building made of stone and marble, with a chic, sleek, modern décor that astonished even the regulars. The bar, restaurant, and the wine cellar were open to all who could afford it, but the immense ballroom and the rooms in the lowest stories were reserved to only a very select group of people, chosen directly by the hotel manager. The highest floors, however, were a different story. Only open to the richest of the rich and the mightiest of the mighty, the highest floors were an open secret everyone dreamed to be a part of. Its parties were scandalous, its gambling intense, and sex, drugs and money played second fiddle to the power you could gain in those rooms. All of this was orchestrated and monitored by the Hotel owner, a mysterious man Alayne had never seen, and had never planned on meeting. She didn’t know what his policies were on harboring possible enemies of state, let alone the ones who were supposed to be dead.  
Alayne had started working there as a simple waitress, but her growing tips soon led her to the higher floors, getting older men to pour thousands upon thousands of dollars into her bank account as she poured bourbon in their glasses. She learned how to manipulate and entice men to always come back to her, and she got them to tell her all of their secrets for a kiss or even a simple touch. Alayne was good at this game, but she also knew that if she took one wrong step, she would be done and over with in the blink of an eye. Men were fickle in their affections, as Alayne soon learned. She had to be careful.  
She had built around her a very select clientele of lawyers, politicians, military men, and even drug lords, delicately chosen for the secrets they could reveal or power they could hold. Alayne didn’t like most of them, but that did not factor in her decision at all. Besides, only one man interested her, only one man who would get to see her for who she really was, and to whom she would give everything she had: Joffrey Baratheon. Her family’s murderer.  
To him she would appear red-haired and powerful, ready to serve him the world on a golden platter, and she would take it all away as she gutted him with a silver hunting knife. And to the friends that would inevitably come looking for him, she’d only be a disappearing ghost.

  
Her manager, Jeyne, a beautiful young woman always dressed in formal clothes, interrupted her thoughts as she barged in Alayne’s room. She never bothered knocking before coming in, knowing full well when the girls –and boys in the lower rooms – had clients or were alone.

  
“Oberyn Martell has just arrived in town. He wants to book you tonight.”  
Alayne smiled to herself, remembering his last visit to her. “I can’t. Tyrion Lannister is coming tonight.”  
“Again? Has he got plans to move in with you ?”  
Alayne chuckled, turning around to face Jeyne, who was not finished with her.“Are you falling for him, Alayne ? Is this why he’s always here and you're always available ?”

Alayne snorted. “God no.”

“Then why are you letting him take all of your time ?”  
Alayne shrugged. “He pays incredibly well.”

That was only part of it, though, and the smallest part. The truth was, Tyrion Lannister was incredibly important to her. Not only was he the uncle of the boy who had killed her family and tortured her, but he also was one of the government’s most powerful members, and could get her all the things she needed to carry out her plan. And, even though he was part of the most rotten families out there, she liked him and his no-nonsense attitude. He made her laugh, something she desperately needed to keep a level head.  
“What makes him come back to you over and over, though ? He gets all that he wants from other girls, and he always dumps them to get back to you.”  
“I don’t know what to tell you, Jeyne.” Alayne shrugged again, trying to appear uninterested, even bored with the conversation. She didn’t trust the woman, even if she knew she was a fair and just person. She couldn’t afford to make a friend, to have someone sniffing around her stuff.

  
“Did you tell him he’d get to deflower you if he pays enough ? Is this what’s going on, with Tyrion or with the others ?”  
Alayne sighed. “They believe what they want to believe, Jeyne. But I haven’t made promises.”  
“Good. Cause once it’s done, there is no coming back.”  
“Tyrion Lannister likes to talk and play chess. That is all we do.”  
Jeyne dramatically leapt out of the room. “That is so boring that I could die right here and there.”

  
Alayne rolled her eyes and closed the door behind her. And the truth was, she didn’t know what it was that she did that kept her into such high demand. Sure, not that many new people wanted to book her, but the ones that did once, always wanted to come back for seconds. And Alayne knew it wasn't about the sex, since she’d never gone farther than a steamy make-out session with Oberyn Martell. Alayne still remember this night as the night that got it all started. Oberyn had been the first to tell management that she should work upstairs, and the first to show her the mythical higher floors. It was that night, after they had danced for hours and talked for a few more, and after Oberyn had made her feel so wanted, so sexy, so good that Alayne had climbed onto his lap and kissed him earnestly.  
Their kiss lasted for what felt like hours to Alayne, and she still thanked God Jeyne had stopped them when she did. Alayne had no idea if she could have been able to stop him before things got too serious, and she still wasn’t sure she would have wanted it to. But she was not going to do it ever again, that was for sure. She still regretted having let it play that far, and she still hadn’t accepted how Jeyne had treated her – and still continued to - after that.  
No, Alayne was special, but she knew full well she wasn’t unique. Some of the other girls were virgins, too, and as inexperienced as her. And they, like her, were in high demand.  
Alayne believed they were for two reasons : one, men liked to be first, to mark their territory, and if an opportunity arose, then so would they. And two, the establishment did not sell them to the highest bidder, quite the contrary; the girl –or boy- in question was allowed to chose who would be their special customer, and for how much. They were allowed freedom in their clientele, and no one but Jeyne had a say in who they spent their time with. Most girls ended up giving their virginity away freely to a man they like, or one they could trust to be gentle and patient. There were a few girls who sold theirs, out of necessity for most, out of greed for some, and for the ones that were left, they sold it because they could.  
Alayne knew that novelty wouldn’t last, and that she was bound to see her number of clients decline, but she was adamant: no one would touch her before Joffrey, and even he would not get far. Alayne’s body did not belong to her as long as revenge was her motivation.

  
But she had to keep her head in the present, in the now; Tyrion would be here sooner rather than later. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. She looked like she had put some effort in her makeup and hair, but not too much, which was exactly how Tyrion liked her. She was the fake girlfriend he came home to after a long day, smiling and comforting, ready to listen and joke around. He never touched her other than a hug he gave her once, and never looked like he wanted to do anything but unwind with Alayne. Her outfit, too, was carefully thought out: where most men liked her in dresses and skirts – they never could keep her legs out of their sight -, Tyrion liked her in jeans and pants, but never too formal, though. He liked her to wear what one's friend would wear while hanging out.  
Most nights, they spent time in her apartment, playing chess or other games of strategy, hosting fake talk shows and dance parties – Tyrion's freestyle rap would stick to her mind always – or just talking about the world and what it would offer them if they were free. Those nights would be accompanied by loads of wine – red, from Dorne – and sometimes something a little stronger that Tyrion would sneak in.  
But some nights, though, some nights he took her out. Mostly to show her private exhibitions of artists he thought she'd like, or to elite parties where Alayne would be gawked at and stared at for hours, and where Tyrion would feel so uncomfortable that he'd always take her hand and lead her to an emergency exit, stealing bottles and mini-fours as he went.  
One time, Alayne remembered, he took her to the opera to see “the show of the millennium” according to the critics. She had never been to the opera before. Her father never went, and Joffrey never seemed to be interested in her for more than five minutes at a time. In a way, however, she was glad to have waited for Tyrion. Once inside, Alayne felt Sansa being reborn, a true aristocrat in her natural habitat. Several people mistook her for a princess that night, as Tyrion had told her afterwards, and Alayne cried herself to sleep thinking that she would have been, had things not gone so horribly wrong. The play had been good, yes, but Alayne only remembered the lead singer: a blonde, frail little thing with the most amazing voice she had ever heard. And if she closed her eyes, Alayne could forget the world and the weight on her shoulders, feel like she was the only person left on Earth. She had been reluctant to leave, and had never agreed to go back. She wanted to keep this memory untouched by routine.  
Tonight, Alayne mused while getting dressed, she was in for a good night. Tyrion was bringing food – fish soup from Storm's End that tasted like salt and wind, her favorite – and wine – white, from the harbors in the south – and promised her that he would let her win at chess. He hadn't seemed down, at least not during their phone call, but content and a little excited. She happily let him in when he arrived, roughly fifteen minutes after Jeyne had left, and he practically had a skip in his step.  
Alayne liked Tyrion, and she often had to remind herself of his last name to not think him a genuine friend. He was a handsome man, even though his face was scarred. She rather liked it, actually, a faint reminder of his bad boy days. People tended to dismiss him because of his height and because of how he looked -the two eyes not matching, the hair so blond it was almost white -, but Alayne found a companion in him. She loved his wit, and his jokes, and his conversations. She loved how cheeky he was.  
“What's going on ?” Alayne laughed as he pecked her cheek.  
“I have good news.” He put down food and drinks on the table Alayne had finished laying just before he arrived. “I was promoted today.”  
“Finally !” She grinned as he beamed up at her. “You know what ?”, she exclaimed, “this is cause for a celebration. Let's pop the champagne !”

Their night passed in good humor, talking and making plans for Tyrion's future – Alayne pictured him president, and he pictured himself as a adventurer making a world tour – and she had all but forgotten that he was only a pawn in her game. She let him speak, wishing she could join him on his tour, wishing she could tell him the truth about herself. He was too drunk to realize she had been silent for far too long, and too engrossed in what he was saying to witness the change in her as he spoke of what he liked to call 'the Northern Wilderness'. He described to her what she had known in a previous life, the wide spaces and the thick forests, the quiet and the way the sky looked at dusk, the stars he had met for the first time when he was there.  
“Have you ever seen snow, Alayne ?” he asked, quietly. They were laying on the floor, all lights out but the ones shining on the buildings around them, pretending the ceiling was the open sky.  
A pit opened in her stomach as she tried to fight her memories. “No.” Her voice was rough, caught in her throat.  
“You should visit the North. Trust me on this.”  
Alayne didn't answer – couldn't answer him. Tyrion smiled, and his voice was dreamy as he spoke. “It's pure magic. Nothing but white snow all around, and peace. If you closed your eyes, you could hear the Old Gods whisper to you.”  
“What did the Old Gods say to you ?”  
“Get the fuck out of her,e southerner. You are not welcome here.”  
Alayne giggled. “They would never say that.”  
“You're right, they wouldn't. It might have been the Greyjoy boy.”  
“Greyjoy?” _Theon_. He might not have been Sansa's friend, but he had been a piece of home, and she suddenly missed him, and the pranks he and Robb would pull on the girls from the village.  
“A lad the Starks had with them. A ward of some sort, I guess. He was always with the oldest Stark child, Robb.”  
At the mention of the name, Alayne felt goosebumps jump on her skin. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing steady. She wanted to stay out of this conversation, to anchor herself in King's Landing and not think of home, but she couldn't help herself. She blurted out :  
“What does snow feel like, Tyrion ?”  
“Cold, and wet, for the most part.” They both chuckled. “But it felt like magic on your fingers, too. Pure. Unaltered. It feels like renewal, and hope. ” Alayne heard Tyrion take a deep breath. “And it crackles under your feet, and it melts between your fingers. In Winterfell, where I was, there was this small forest on the estate, with really big trees that could have told the stories of the first men if you could hear them speak. And in front of some, there were these hot pools that you could bathe in whenever you wanted, winter or summer. And if you were really quiet and still, you could hear the wolves in the forests, talking to each other. Did you know that the Starks children actually had wolves for pets, at one point ? Giant things that could rip them all to shreds, and yet, in their hands, they were gentle and cuddly.”  
“Did you met them ?”  
“Who ? The wolves ?” Tyrion grimaced. “I steered clear.”  
“No, dummy. The Starks.” Saying her family name out loud was bold, and she hoped to the Gods Tyrion wouldn't hear the pride and love in her voice.  
“I did, yes. They were not very welcoming to my family, but no one could blame them. The Lannisters have made unhappy men everywhere.”  
“How were they ?” She closed her eyes, knowing full well she couldn't contain the emotion in her voice. _Thank God Tyrion is drunk_.  
“Rigid. Honorable. But they were not all bad.” She could hear the smile in his voice and figured he was thinking of good times.  
“Really ?”  
“Yeah. The Starks had two daughters, Sansa and Arya. They were pieces of work, like their entire family, but the youngest had curiosity, and wanted to know everything about King's Landing. She followed me everywhere.” He laughed. “The oldest did not speak to me, but she would smile at me like I was the eighth wonder of the world.” His voice was soft, like silk.  
Alayne smiled, remembering full well what he was talking about. Her father had actually forbade all of them to speak to the Lannisters if they could help it – an order that Arya just had to break the first time she had the chance – and even Sansa, who tried hard to obey her father, had been drawn to them. They were from the Capital, the hub of civilization and culture, and she so badly wanted to ask them to take her with them when they went back.  
“At first she would stare when she felt I wouldn't notice, but where the others stopped when I stared back, she did not. She'd look into my eyes and smile that warm honey smile of hers, and only turned away when someone from her family talked. When I gathered up the courage to ask her little sister why she did that, do you know what she responded ?”  
“No.” A lump of nerves gathered in Alayne's stomach. She remembered exactly what Tyrion was talking about, how she couldn't tear away from his face, trying to see the man underneath the scar, only remembering who she was and what she was doing when she heard her father or mother's voice. She had blushed, hard, hoping no one had noticed her interest, especially not Tyrion Lannister.  
“She said that I made her sad because I seemed so unhappy.” He chuckled. “Only a day after we met and she could already see through me without fail.”  
“She sounds-” Alayne tried to swallow the lump, now lodged in her throat. She tried – hard – not to see it anymore, not to remember anymore, how full of hope for the future she was, how ready to jump into a lion's den she was. “- stupid.”  
“I'm sure she was a sweet girl.. I'll never know, though. She will forever remain a mystery to me. I would have liked to have known her, though.”  
“Yeah ?” Alayne's voice faltered. “I'm sure she would have liked to know you, too.”  
“You flatter me. No, she preferred younger, more handsome boys her age. Who would blame her.”  
He turned his head to her, whispering just loud enough for her to hear. “She looked like you, you know, if you had a 'good' twin.”  
Alayne scoffed, hit his arm. “What do you mean, 'good' ?”  
“You know, an innocent twin. The angel to your demon.” Tyrion smiled.  
“Are you saying I'm a bad girl ?”  
Tyrion chuckled. “You are !”  
“I'm perfectly nice.”  
“You are. But you have fire in you, she had ice. I can see the faint echo of her on your face, though.”  
_Conceal it, conceal her,_  Alayne urged herself. _Make it about him._ “Are you sure you're not just wishing you see her ?”  
He studied her face for a second, before turning to the ceiling. “Hm. Maybe. I did take a liking to her.”  
Alayne couldn't move away from him. “Why didn't you tell her ?”  
Tyrion laughed a little sadly. “Ah, because who wouldn't want to be the dwarf's crush ?” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, it doesn't matter know. Nobody will claim her from me.” He turned back to her for a second. “You read the papers, you know what happened. She is gone, now.”  
Alayne stayed silent for a second, and then turned her head to him and asked the question she had been wondering for two years aloud. “Why ?”  
She saw Tyrion sigh, before getting up. “She fell in love.”  
He left her on the floor as he made his way to the bathroom, left her as Sansa's heart broke into thousands of pieces. She felt sick, but couldn't move. She was frozen with guilt, heavy with sorrow. She was the reason why. She allowed herself to sob once, quietly, before picking herself up and dusting herself off. Once the mask of Alayne carefully put back into place, she was perfect by the time Tyrion reappeared.  
“Well, my dear, it's been a lovely night but I need to go.”  
She tried to feign excitement. “Good luck tomorrow. Knock 'em dead !”

Alayne grinned at him and waved as he left. Her smile fell the second the door closed. She tried to shake off the feeling of self-loathing that washed over her like poison, took the champagne bottle still half empty and drank a glass. I need a shower, she thought, undressing quickly. She made a beeline for her bathroom, shedding clothes as she went. Once under the water, she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, push her memories out of her head. She needed to hold on to Alayne, to bottle all of her feelings of guilt, and despair, and rage to channel them into revenge. She needed to be clean of Sansa. She rubbed and rubbed till her skin hurt, letting the clear stream wash over her, carrying away her doubts.  
She was too tired to tidy up, too wired to sleep. She wandered her apartment in her underwear, holding the champagne bottle still half full in her hand, lights so low she could see the stars from the window wall. Her thoughts were drawn towards her ever present fantasy of eviscerating Joffrey Baratheon, and she played it in her mind time and time again. And he wouldn't be the only one, either. His mother and grand-father would feel her wrath, too. The Boltons, the Freys, all of them would die at her hand, too. She thought about how good she would feel once it was done. How long the road to redemption would be, but how happy she would be to take it. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She knew where this road would take her.  
_Home_.  
A knock on the door shook her awake, and she looked at the time. 2.15AM. She frowned. A hint of well-known terror and dread was already creeping onto her as she jumped back into Sansa's skin for a second. Her heart was racing in her chest, and she started shaking. Stop it, she admonished. It's probably just Jeyne. She took a second to calm down, shake it off, regain her composure, before going to the door. Alayne froze when she found a man looking back at her, a crooked smile eating his face, making it come alive. His gaze left her face to wander on her body, barely hidden by her bra and panties. He stopped on her hips, followed her legs and went back up to her face.  
“Is that how you usually answer the door ?” There was playfulness in his voice, a hint of humor that she had found so sexy the first time she had met him.  
“Oberyn, it's two o'clock in the morning.” Alayne made no move to cover herself up. She had no shame in her body, having embraced a long time ago the quirks that made it unique and familiar.  
“I know. But I had to wait until you were alone, since you're too busy for your favorite client.”  
“Actually, I did meet my favorite client tonight-”  
“Ouch.” Oberyn's hand went to his heart as he pretended to be hurt, keeping a smile in his eyes.  
“-And he left about two hours ago.”  
He shrug his shoulders, grabbed the bottle from her hand as he made his way in. “Drinking alone, are you ?”  
“Oberyn, seriously -” She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind him. He was already sitting on the couch, looking extremely comfortable – and gorgeous as ever, although Alayne tried hard not to notice – when she came into her living room. “-Can't it wait ? I'm exhausted.”  
“It can't, actually. I'm going back to Dorne later this morning and we have to talk.”  
“About what ? What is so important that you have to tell me at two o'clock in the morning ?”  
She felt his stare go back to her body again, wrapping her in his ever present lust, as he seemed to ponder his next move. She felt her lower stomach come to life and noticed her heartbeat speeding up. He licked his lips as his eyes stopped at her stomach, watching it rise and fall with each movement she made. Alayne could not help but stare, too. He was a beautiful, rugged man; with broad shoulders and dark hair, and eyes that danced and laughed and turned black when he was aroused. Her memories of her night with him came to her almost every day, and she couldn't stop grinning when it happened. But tonight, she was too raw to deal with desire. She was about to snap at him when she heard him take a deep breath.  
“You know, you hide it well.”  
“What ?” Alayne crossed her arms in front of her.  
He sat up, his elbows on his knees as he studied her face, head tilted slightly. “The wolf.”  
Alayne felt a flash of panic rush through her and tried hard to hide it. Her eyes narrowed.  
“I don't understand. Are you drunk ?”  
Oberyn chuckled. “As a general rule, yes. Tonight, sadly, I am sober.”  
“Then what are you saying ?”  
“I'm saying you don't have to hide anymore. Not with me, anyways.”  
“Oberyn, you're not making sense.” Alayne swallowed hard, thinking of different ways to make him leave, make him shut up, make him forget. _He doesn't know, not really anyway_ , she repeated to herself, _he's going to tell me it's all a prank_.  
“I'm not here to blow your cover, if that's what you're afraid of.”  
“I'm not afraid of you.” The answer shot out of her mouth without her consent, lifting up her chin and glaring down at him. He only laughed.  
“Good. I'm on your side, Sansa.”  
The world fell silent, and all Alayne could hear was her blood pumping, her heart beating, hard. She was inches away from crying, from breaking down. _He knew. But how ?_  
He got up and went to her, putting his hands on her arms.

“You are Sansa Stark, aren't you ?”

Alayne shook her head, laughing nervously. “How could I be Sansa Stark when Sansa Stark is dead ?”

“But she didn't die. She standing right in front of me, she survived, and she is healthy, and strong, and breathtaking.”

“No.” Alayne hid back behind the steel she had built as armor. “Sansa Stark died with her family.”

Oberyn shook his head sadly, but Alayne wasn't done. Far from it. She looked at him haughtily. “She died after she had to watch her brother Robb being stabbed to death. She died after she had to listen to her mother's screams before her throat was slashed open. She died after her little brother, a sweet, innocent boy who dreamed of adventures and knights and who thought raven could speak, was beaten to death with his own baseball bat.”  
Oberyn stared at her with sorrow overflowing him, unable to look away or move as Alayne continued. He looked like he was going to be sick, but Alayne couldn't care less. _If he wanted the truth, then he would have it, down to all the gloriously gore details._  
“Her sister was shot in the stomach, left on the floor to agonize for hours, and she cried, and shook, and called for her father. Her father, whose beheading they all had to watch because, according to Joffrey Baratheon, it was just so much fun, who was killed with a kitchen knife. Needless to say, it took a few tries to get it right, to get the head completely separated from the body. And Sansa Stark had to watch, forced and tied by Joffrey himself who laughed in her hear and kept whispering over and over that it was her fault, that she deserved this, that he was freeing her from her traitor family, that she would be reborn as his Lannister bride, Sansa had to watch while her little baby brother Rickon, who had done no wrong to anyone, who had been left for last, left to watch his family die around him without understanding why, cry for help, for his mother and father, for his last remaining family, she watched as they strangled him with hands as big as his head. Sansa Stark died with her family that night, like she should have.”  
Oberyn closed his eyes and straightened his jaw. His features were marked by pain and cold fury, and Alayne swallowed. Her speech left her breathless and raw, as if her every nerve was exposed. She fought back the tears that came to her, refusing to let Oberyn see weakness in her.  
When he opened his eyes, he peered into hers with a ferocity that left her breathless. “They will pay for what they have done.” There was venom on his tongue, and venom in his words. “To you, your family, and my family, and to all those that cannot avenge themselves. We will make them pay, that I promise you.”  
“I don't want your pity.”

  
“That isn't pity, love, that is a contract. You and I, **we are taking our revenge**.”


	2. Ignition

Oberyn and Alayne had barely moved since silence settled between them. They were still standing opposite each other, staring at one another, hungry and afraid, unable to speak, and Oberyn's hands were branding her skin red and sensitive. There was electricity coursing through their veins, communicated by their ragged breathing, leaving them petrified. She was running his promise in her head again and again, trying to figure out if she could believe in his words, or if they were just a screen of smoke designed to blind her, tempt her from her current path. But what use could anyone have of him ? And what did _he_ want from her ? Alayne frowned, confused, retreating into her brain before being shaken alive by Oberyn's sweet voice.

“Sansa,-” he said, the name sliding like silk on his tongue.

She responded before she knew she were, the interjection flying out of her like a bullet.

“ _Don't_ call me that.”

Alayne glared up at him. It felt wrong, all of it, this situation and that name, that name he said so well and that woke something up inside of her; it felt like something was being pulled out of her when she so desperately wanted to keep it in, to keep her in. “My name”, she hissed, “is Alayne Stone.”

She shook herself away from his embrace and turned her back to him. She needed to put some clothes on, to put some distance between them, keep him away from the softness inside her. She heard him sigh as she ran her fingers through her hair, then heard the familiar sound of glass against glass which meant he was pouring himself a drink. She returned to him a few moments later, having cleared her brain a little, reorganized her thoughts, came back in shorts and a loose shirt in an awful gray color, and sat on the coffee table opposite the couch where he seemed to have fallen. He looked tired, but determined, as he handed a glass to her. She took it gratefully, their fingers gliding against each other, and she looked down at it. _Bourbon_. She couldn't drink it, though, she only stared. She felt sick enough, and drowsy enough. She needed to keep her wits about her.

“So”, he started, finishing his drink before moving his eyes onto her, waiting for hers to find him. He seemed to peer into her soul as he spoke, softly, his goal clear in mind. “ _Alayne_ ,” - he said it roughly, like the name was less worthy of them, of her - “why is it that you haven't left the country by now, that you are staying _here_ instead of running home ?” He gestured towards the whole room, making it crystal that he meant the Hotel.

_Easy answer._ “Because Sansa cannot get revenge for herself.” She stared right back at him, unwilling to let him control the situation. Alayne may be no one, but she was still a force to be reckoned with, at least for this. Joffrey Baratheon was hers, and she would let no one take him away. “And yet she deserves to be avenged all the same.”

She looked back down at her glass, clearing her throat. “Besides, there is nothing waiting for me at home but ash and charred stone. So what's the point ?”

Oberyn nodded absently before getting up and pouring himself another drink. She watched him, watched his movements and his eyes, watched as he drank, eyes closed, and poured himself another.

“You know,” she joked, trying to defuse the terrible tension between them, “it would be easier to drink from the bottle at this point.”

He laughed, turning around to face her. “This is no conversation I want to have sober.” He tilted his head, the bourbon in his hand gliding as he moved. He seemed to study her from head to toe, just as she did him, looking for weaknesses. They stared at each other silently for a second, Alayne's heart beating loudly in her chest, trying hard not to falter under his hot gaze that seemed to see in her mind. He took her by surprise as he sat on the floor in front of her, as she had not seen him move, nor heard the sofa whine as he came down to her. _The Viper_ , she remembered, _they call him the Viper_. _Now I see why._

He was on his knees, looking up at her, his hands moving on her thighs and settling on her waist, imprisoning her between his arms, hypnotized by his stare.

“I like you, Alayne, we both know that. I have tried, and quite hard as I must admit, to seduce you, but even as your body responded, I still cannot tell what is going on inside your head.” She looked for lies in his voice, unsure whether to trust a snake or cut his head off. As he spoke, however, the pressure of his fingers on her waist burned holes on her skin, leaving her flustered and breathless. She wanted to listen to her head, but her body was trying to break free, trying to respond to his call for intimacy. Oberyn continued, unaware of the fight going on inside his wolf, or if he did see it, he did not show it. “But I know that vengeance is important to you, or else you would be far, far away from this forsaken hole they call a town. And I want to help, I want to get you where you need to go, but you have to help me, too.”

After a long silence, Alayne spoke up. “If you want my help, Oberyn, stop pushing me into it with your touch. Treat me as your equal, not your pet.”

Oberyn's eyes narrowed, but there was no mistaking the pride that flashed in his eyes. “How am I pushing you ?” he asked, innocently, as his thumbs drew circles on her hips.

“You know exactly what you're doing.” Her own hands flew to his elbows, fingertips caressing his open skin as she moved down to his wrists, watching him take a sudden breath, before grabbing his hands and pushing them away. “But it takes two to tango, Oberyn.” She glided down the table and onto his lap again, hands on his neck, following the buttons of his shirt down to his chest, her body eating the distance between them. She whispered to him, pulling him to her, her face mere inches from his face : “And I'm more than willing to play that game if that's how you want to proceed.” She watched his eyes go black, slowly, as she felt his hands move up her back.

Alayne was out of her league, playing a game she knew she could not win, not really anyway, but this was survival, this was her last resort. He knew who she was, she told him about her family, and he either had to be controlled, or he had to be silenced. And Alayne was good at survival. She let herself be guided by instinct, and she knew she would be okay if she listened to the wolf hiding inside her, the same one that got her to get out alive from the Lannister cage. So she watched him breathe, hard, watched as he moved under her, getting her closer and closer to him. She felt the tip of his nose against hers, and felt his hot breath as he spoke.

“We can play all we like, Alayne, and I do hope that we do, but the result is the same. They killed your family. They killed my sister. You and I, we are after the same thing. We might as well work together.”

Alayne frowned slightly.

“What did they do to your sister ?” she murmured as she felt his grip tighten on her. A dark shadow passed on his face, igniting his anger and leaving her shaken.

“They raped her.” Alayne closed her eyes, trying not to see, as Oberyn went on. “They killed her. They murdered her children.”

Alayne opened her eyes and found Oberyn's dark eyes aflame, locked onto her as he spoke through gritted teeth. “And for this, they will pay. And even if you don't want to help me, Alayne, I will make them pay for you, too. They will regret to be alive, and they will wish for death; and I will make them writhe in pain and beg for death by the time I am through with them. That, I promise you, as I have promised Elia.”

Alayne felt something in her give way, and she felt suddenly free, as if a burden had been taken off her shoulder. She wasn't alone, not anymore. And after tonight, she would never be alone again. And even if calm was still miles away for the both of them, they could still find some comfort in the other. She cautiously kissed the pain out of his eyes as she kissed his forehead, and put her face to his. She, too, had a promise to make.

“And I will make them apologize for everything that they have done to us, Oberyn, everything they have done to them, and I will make them plead for mercy as my teeth will tear them apart. That, I promise you, as I have promised my family.”

Oberyn's intense stare pierced into her soul, but she saw yielding in his eyes, as if something had been freed. He had seen and understood that he would not be alone in his quest, either. They were two lonely souls, too akin to ignore each other, too close to burn to reject one another. Alayne's heart was, for the first time in a long, long time, filled with hope, and she knew that Oberyn felt the same thing by the way he looked at her at that moment. He moved his hands from her back to her face, where he circled her and kept her locked in him.

They shared their second kiss that night, a deep, flaming kiss that seemed to seal their fates together. Neither of them initiated it, but they fell on the other as though it was the most natural thing to do, and they kept their lips locked for a while, neither pushing it farther nor pulling away, finding comfort in the other. And when they fell apart, Alayne breathed normally, knowing, deep down, that she had found a mate.

“Look at that, Alayne.” Oberyn whispered to her, “Your wolf has found the first of its pack.”

She laughed softly, unwilling to let go. “A wolf and a viper. What odd companions.”

“Never underestimate the power of odd pairings, Alayne. They are oft matched in despair, as you and I are today.”

He took a deep breath, and let her go as his hands moved again to her hips. He pushed her up gently, and stood up after her. He stared into her eyes, softly, and whispered to her : “As much as I would like to stay with you and seduce you out of your pants-” - Alayne playfully hit him in the chest, and smiled as she heard him laugh - “- I have to go back to Dorne. Business awaits.” He kissed her forehead. “I will be back soon, and we shall talk more of our plans to make this city cry blood.” Oberyn looked once more into her eyes, wrapping her between his arms. “Do not do anything foolish before I return, my wolf. You do not know yet how possessive I can be.”

Alayne smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I'm not sure I agreed to be yours, Oberyn.”

“Don't worry, I do not ask for much in these affairs. Just loyalty.”

After one last kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a second more, Oberyn made his way to the door. She was about to let him go when she asked after him :

“Wolves cannot be owned. You know that, don't you ?”

He turned around, smiling his crooked smile that left her in shambles. “And snakes are no pets. But from tonight on, dear Alayne, you belong to me, just as I belong to you.”

 

Oberyn closed the door behind him, leaving Alayne to release the breath she didn't know she had been holding. Her initial reaction was to go to bed, to wash herself of the day's events and ask the stars for advice; but something tugged at the back of her mind. _He knows._ She frowned, and already felt the familiar frantic beat of her heart. _He knows._ She closed her eyes, trying to push it away, trying to think about Oberyn's promise. _He knows !_ Her mind screamed at her, and she felt a rush of panic in her bones, a tidal wave that overthrew her and left her in pieces. She held herself, trying hard not to fall, and she bit back a scream. She'd been discovered. Oberyn knew who she was, and if he did, who else knew ? Who else could see it ? Who else was close to realizing that the only remaining Stark alive is hiding in plain sight ? She'd been discovered. It was over.

She waited, and waited, anxious and nauseated, for someone to barge in, for someone to come get her, even for Joffrey to come himself. She waited as her heart beat loud in her chest, as her legs shook in fear, as her eyes started to water, and she waited as she started to cry, sobbing hard, but still standing up. She waited, but nothing ever came. The halls were silent, and no sound came from her neighbors. Eventually, Alayne calmed down, and faced the truth of the matter : if they indeed knew Sansa Stark was alive, they didn't think her a priority. She dried the tears on her cheeks, sniffing, exhaling, thinking to herself how long it had been since she had allowed herself to cry. She shook her head, sighing. There was nothing more for her to do now but go to bed, and onto her next client.

Hopefully, if Joffrey did come for her, he would do so in the light of day.

 

Alayne relaxed a little more as each day passed and bore no sign of trouble, and tensed back as soon as the day passed with no sign of Oberyn. He would come back, though, or so he told her. She wanted to have blind faith that he was a man of his word, but she did not want to be waiting around for him to show up either; and so she decided to make other plans, plans that attracted her away from her flat.

She enjoyed quiet dates with her more infamous of clients – and actually went to dinner with famous actor Loras Tyrell – a match made by his entourage, afraid the press who have him pegged as a loner rather than a lover – and who seemed more interested in their waiter than herself, but who was still good company – and enjoyable moments with the staff as they were preparing yet another party for the patrons. This one was different, though, as the tone of the party had been changed from absolute rave to fancy upscale party in an old Hollywood background. From what Alayne was seeing, the night would be an absolute success. She was actually tempted to swing by, as a few of her customers had asked her, but she could not afford to make anyone jealous, and lose a precious piece to her game. She would stay home, catch up on some TV or a good book, ignoring all sounds coming from outside, a tall glass of white wine in her hand. She would live vicariously through the girls that did go, though, and she would get the gossip the next day. That would be more than enough.

Besides, she knew of a man who would rather be caught dead than go to the party, and maybe he could swing back for an old-fashioned game of chess.

She had caught herself thinking about Tyrion more than she should have since the last time they had seen each other. He had canceled their last few appointments, all of them at once, something that even Jeyne found odd. She told him he had made no other dates, met no other escorts, and didn't even come to the bar or the restaurant anymore. He had simply stopped coming around, and Alayne wasn't exactly sure why. Was it the revelations he had made during their last dinner, or was it something more ? Questions clung to Alayne like a stain on her skin, leaving her uncomfortable in her own skin. Was she ever going to see Tyrion again ? Or did he simply vanish from her like so many others had ? She checked her phone more than was reasonable, wishing she could talk with him, but when she did find the courage to call, he just never picked up, leaving her feeling tired and empty.

 

Oberyn came back to King's Landing twelve days – Alayne had counted, she merely couldn't help it – after he had left her that night, and he immediately came to the Hotel and asked to see her. It had been around four in the afternoon, and he had barged in on her after making sure she was alone. Jeyne had tried telling him she was busy preparing for tonight's very, _very_ important client – Alayne was having dinner with a diplomat from Yunkai that poured millions into L'Oiseau every year – but there was no denying him access, and she had to relent. Alayne had just got out the shower when Oberyn entered, followed by a frowning Jeyne. Alayne went from one to the other with her eyes, shaking her head to Jeyne, motioning her to leave.

But Jeyne stayed, fuming and muttering under her breath, as Alayne stood watching Oberyn move about her flat. She went to her manager, gently pushing her out.

“Don't forget about the diplomat !”

“I won't, Jeyne, I promise. He'll only be a couple of minutes. And if push comes to shove, he can talk while I get ready.”

“Oh, Gods, absolutely not ! How outrageous.”

“Jeyne, come on.”

The woman fretted a second more, looking for an excuse to kick Oberyn out. She watched him as he leaned against the bar, playing with a glass ball that had come with the apartment, nonchalantly, lazily, as if nothing bored him more than being here and having to listen to them. But Alayne played her last card right, and with great effect.

“Please.”

“Fine.” Jeyne rolled her eyes. “Two minutes.” She shot the Dornishman a look of warning before walking out, hissing against rudeness and impropriety. Oberyn only laughed as she left, leaving Alayne to roll her eyes.

“You know, you could always try and book an appointment instead of showing up at the door. You're asking for trouble.”

“That is all I know how to do, my wolf, that, drink, and make love.” He put the ball down, coming to her, wrapped her between his arms a moment, never leaving her eyes. “Tell me you're okay.”

Alayne pushed him away, wrinkling her nose, amused and a little put off. “Gods, Oberyn, you stink ! Where have you been and why didn't you change ?”

She had let her palms on his chest, quite unable to take them off, neither pushing nor pulling, simply enjoying his warmth and closeness. The smell was bad, like fish and guts and blood, but it wasn't as bad as touching him, being connected to him, felt good.

“I had to make a stop before running back to you.” He shrugged, his crooked smile a beacon of light in Alayne's eyes. “But you're right, little wolf. I am dirty. Will you wash me ?”

“You can't be serious.” Alayne scoffed, trying to decipher the amusement in his eyes. _Was he mocking her ?_

“Oh, but I am, dear Alayne. I am very serious.” He took her hands in his and kissed them, chuckling. “But you would take too long, fretting and blushing, and I am only allowed two minutes of your time. I should make this quick if I still want to talk to you after.”

He winked at her, and before Alayne could realize what was happening, Oberyn had started to shed his clothes, jacket, shirt and shoes on the floor around him; had grabbed her towel – the very same towel that she was wearing – and headed towards the bathroom.

“Oberyn !” Alayne protested, and found herself holding his shirt instead of her towel. “Do not take a-”

But her shouts were in vain, since she could already hear the water running and the door closing. She rolled her eyes, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. “Gods.” she mumbled. She could understand now, though, why so many people fell in love with Oberyn : he was funny, and spontaneous, and a little crazy. And he could make you feel like you are the only person on the earth that truly mattered. She could see him have wild adventures, tell the tale in a beautifully colored way, and she could see herself having those adventures with him. She really wanted to, anyway.

_In another life_ , she wondered, _had things been different, would he and I have met_ ? _Would he have noticed me if we didn't have a common goal, a common path, or would I have been only a stupid giggling schoolgirl to avoid at a social event_?

She knew exactly where she would be, however, had her parents refused to go to the capitol almost three years ago: still full of dreams, full of teen angst and rage and bewilderment at her folks, bickering with her little sister, spending afternoon after afternoon with Robb, walking in the forest just after it had rained, and Lady and Grey Wind running between the trees. It would have been a quiet life she could not have waited to get out of, and she knew, with all her heart, that if things had been different and Ned and Catelyn had denied her access to King's Landing, she would have gone anyway. She would have been, or, rather, she _had_ been too naive to think about what could go wrong on her path to adulthood, and if Joffrey hadn't found her, she probably would have let somebody else, somebody just as young and full of promise, take her heart and maybe even her hand. Three years ago, Sansa Stark believed in forever, and in love with a grand L, and in the stories she had made up back at home in Winterfell. She believed in the tales of white knights, she believed in romance and needing a man in her life to be whole.

Three years later, Alayne Stone believed in getting even, and in vengeance with a grand V.

_You would have had Tyrion,_ a part of her whispered, _had you been Sansa Stark_.

_Yes, I would have had Tyrion. But would I have been intelligent enough to take him ?_ _No, probably not._

 

The voice of Oberyn got her back to reality, back to her room. She was still naked, holding a shirt that smelled so strongly of fried fish that she actually thought he had carried some in his pockets, mere hours away from one of the biggest jobs of her escorting career.

“See ? All better, now.”

Oberyn was a vision, half naked, his manhood hidden by Alayne's towel, hair wet and falling on his face. He stopped for a second when he saw that she had not covered herself – and still hadn't woken up enough from her daze to do so – and his eyes followed the lines of her young body, draping her with such a sizzling look that Alayne shivered under it. He was about to say something as his eyes found her freshly shaven mound, but a small scar protruding from her lower abdomen and running towards her hip, almost to small to notice, stopped him dead in his tracks. She followed his stare, ill at ease for the first time since they met, and saw his eyes harden, his muscles tense up. She used his shirt to cover them, ashamed, but he closed the distance between them in a split second and threw the garment away. His fingertips caressed her scar with such a delicate touch that Alayne had to hold onto him if she did not want to fall.

He noticed the second one, too, just on the other side of her stomach, and glided on it with his other hand. She almost could hear the questions running around his brain as he struggled to breathe properly, and decided to answer them with as strong a voice as she could muster.

“Joffrey didn't want my, um, traitor blood to carry a child, any child. And since he wanted to use me, and offer me to his friends, but didn't care enough to want to put on protection, or even make me take some, well, cutting me open and slashing me up was the first thing he thought of.”

“Did he -?”

Oberyn could not go to the end of his sentence, the words getting lost in his throat, but Alayne could still answer it for him.

“No. I ran just after we left the hospital. Just after I woke up with these on my belly.”

Her hand found her way to his nape, holding him close and tight, trying to comfort him, trying to smile and show him that she was okay, that she had learned to deal with what had been done to her. She didn't know what else to say now, though, couldn't find words that wouldn't make up lies, so she just closed her eyes and appreciated the intimacy she now shared with a man she barely knew, appreciating his palms, warm and soft, on her belly, his face close to hers. She almost cried – again – as she heard his whispers, but turned her tears to a smile instead.

“I promise you, my wolf, that as long as I shall live, I will make them all regret this. They will rue the day this monster came to life, and they will rue the day they let him do this to you.”

It was a simple gift, just words wrapped in a pretty bow, and yet it was a powerful one that resonated within her very core.

“Thank you.”

It was all she could say, and she simply put her palms on his neck, and kissed him softly. They shared a chaste, but intense kiss, before Alayne took back her towel and backed away from him.

“Well, not that this isn't interesting, but I do have a date I need to get ready for.”

Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. He turned to the kitchen as Alayne put on underwear, and she heard him look through her cabinets and fridge. She took her time to perfect her make-up, do her hear and choose her dress, and, through it all, he was still naked as the day he was born, sitting on one of her love seats. He had sent for someone to clean his suit, and had spent the rest of the time snacking on her chocolate covered almonds. They chatted about this diplomat Alayne was seeing – who Oberyn knew through various connections – and how he could be useful to them in the long run, about how they would actually take their revenge on their one foe, and about Tyrion Lannister.

Oberyn wanted to use him, but Alayne was reticent. He tried to argue with her, show her just how useful he could be, and how he could make everything so much easier, but she only turned from her mirror to him and stated, looking him directly in the eye:

“We are not touching him, Oberyn.”

“Look, I like him too. He's a hoot.” Oberyn smirked. “In fact, I have a few stories about his stay in Dorne that would make your heart blush, but he is, first and foremost, a Lannister. Think of the doors he could open. Quite literally.”

“I know that, Oberyn, of course I do. I've thought about it a hundred different ways. Why do you think I spent so much time with him in the first place ?”

Alayne's voice was soft, but firm, but she sensed that Oberyn did not – could not – understand her reluctance.

“Then what is it, Alayne ?”

She was uncomfortable, and she turned back to her reflection. She looked at herself for a second, trying to hide Sansa's shadow in her eyes.

“He is not like them. He is different.”

“He is a Lannister.” Oberyn accentuated his words, hammering them into Alayne's mind. She could hear the disgust and the contempt behind them, as if the name itself bore fault, as if he wanted to kill it, too. “Believe what you will, Alayne, he is a Lion through and through.”

Alayne stood up, sighing, putting her eyes back onto him. She went to him and touched his face, cupping his chin into her palm, whispering softly to him.

“And you, my friend, are a snake. A deadly beast that holds my fate in his hand. But it does not mean that I am not willing to trust you.”

Oberyn stared at her for a long time, pondering her words, sighed, and finally relented. He took and kissed her hand, never leaving her eyes. “On your own head be it, my wolf.”

“Thank you.” She smiled down at him sweetly, then let him go and went to look for her shoes, as her date was getting unmistakably closer. But Oberyn was not done yet.

“But if we have no other options, we are using him.”

Alayne paused a second, then nodded her assent.

“Thank you.”

Oberyn relaxed, but Alayne could not. She was far from agreeing with Oberyn on this, but she knew she had to listen to logic and reason, too. Tyrion was her key, he was her map. She should use it to her advantage, but, if she was truthful, the revelations he had made the other night had changed everything. She saw him in a wholly different light, as if saying her name, her real, birth name, as somehow made him more human, more real. She did not want him to see her like this. Cold. Calculating. Using people as pawns.

_Focus._ She cleared her throat and put on her heels, then posed for Oberyn to look at her. She had chosen a short, black dress that showed off her legs, but that was modest everywhere else. The whole focus of the outfit was to show how tall and womanly she was, and Alayne had chosen to use few accessories but her black pumps that elongated her even more. Her eyes popped, making them the second thing that you noticed when looking at her, and her lip was plump and shiny and inviting. Oberyn whistled as she showed it off, making her giggle like a little girl.

“He's never going to want to let you go.”

Alayne was grinning as she grabbed a blanket off her bed and handed it to Oberyn.

“And _you_ are going to give heart attacks to the staff if you stay naked.”

He stood up from the chair, not taking the blanket, simply looking from it to Alayne, who did not feel the faintest bit excited or ill at ease at his nakedness. He seemed to get amused by her lack of reaction, smiling from ear to ear.

“You couldn't care less that I am naked, could you ?”

“Oberyn.” Alayne sighed. “There are things I need to do right now, and I am afraid you are not on that list at the moment.”

He roared with laughter, throwing his head back, laughing with his whole body. His good humor was infectious, and Alayne couldn't help but smile up at him. She threw the blanket at his face and left to get her purse, leaving him to laugh on his own. She waited until he had calmed down to look back at him and ask something that she had been wondering since he arrived:

“Are you going be here when I come back ?”

Oberyn finished knotting the blanket around his waist, looking straight at her with a sweet, almost longing look in his eyes.

“Are you asking me to wait for you ?”

She shrugged. “I am asking if you're staying.”

“Are you asking because you want to come back with that old mop you're meeting ?”

She sneered. “Gods, no.”

Oberyn laughed.

“And he's not _that_ old, he's forty.”

“A dinosaur.”

“He's younger than you.”

“Not where it counts.”

Alayne rolled her eyes. “Are you staying, or not ?”

“I'll stay, if you want me to.” Oberyn walked to her, stopping at arm's length, looking ready to extend them and hold her. She was hypnotized by his stare, by his presence. _Touch me_ , her mind screamed.

“I do.”

“Then I'll wait for you to come back.” He kissed her forehead, the gesture quickly becoming mundane for them, and gently pushed her out, whispering to her. “Goodnight, little wolf.”

“Goodnight, Oberyn.”

 

Alayne made the descent into the lobby feeling like she always did before meeting a client : insecure, a little queasy, and with a motto that stick to her skin : _fake it till you make it_. She took a deep breath, and, by the time the elevator doors opened, Alayne was a calm, confident young woman ready to devour the world.

She looked around the lobby for the diplomat's face while walking to the bar, where she was almost certain he was waiting. And, sure enough, she found him facing a drink, looking like he wanted to drown in it, rather than spend the evening with her. She did not let it bother her, though, and introduce herself like a true professional.

Their dinner was endless, and boring, but Alayne made sure that he was having as good a time as she could; which, she had to say, was a challenge even she was not ready for. He seemed bored by all conversations, and tirelessly went on and on about the Iron Bank and the global debt, a topic Alayne was not familiar with. He had found it incredible of her not to know about this, and had made it his goal to tell her all about it. She had managed to smile and nod along, looking at him like he was the most interesting man in the world, and felt amazingly grateful when he dropped her off with no more than a swift goodbye. She looked up at the sky, thanking the Gods that he had made no mention of ever seeing her again, and thanking them for sending Oberyn. She sighed, deeply, and went back to her flat, comforted that she would be alone tonight.

 

Oberyn was fast asleep on the couch, still dressed only in her pink and white blanket, his clothes neatly folded on the coffee table. She smiled, rolling her eyes, and decided not to wake him up. She quietly undressed, shedding clothes as she walked to the bathroom. There, she run a very hot bath for herself, hoping to lay in the water and close her eyes, let all the tension leave her body. She took all her make-up off as she waited, tied her hair into a bun and dipped her toes in the bath. She moaned with pleasure as she got in, feeling relaxed already. She smiled, closed her eyes, and let her spirit wander to another world – a better world. She was running alongside Lady again – a fantasy she had had many times before – through a vast forest where the leaves were green and the soil was wet and soggy, and there was wind in her hair that felt too cold for her face. She smiled, happy to get lost in that world for a moment, not noticing the man who had just sat next to her, his back against her bathtub, holding her hand to his chest with both of his.

She was therefore surprised when she came back to this universe and found him humming on her bathroom floor. She squeezed his hand and he turned to her.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They smiled at each other like two kids who hadn't seen each other in weeks, neither one moving.

“Why are you on the floor ?”

The answer came almost immediately, and too candidly for Alayne to distrust it. “I was lonely.”

She chuckled as he kissed her nose, then moved back to his original position, eyes closed and head back. She listened as he half hummed, half sang a song in a language she did not understand, letting it fill her with a quiet sense of comfort and closeness, and closed her eyes, too.

And, just like that, for the first time in a long, long time, **Alayne was starting to feel at home**.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are, chapter two ! Hope you like it.   
> Please don't hesitate to send feedback, good or bad, as I would love to hear from you guys.


	3. Prohibition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, this one was harder to deliver, probably because it was supposed to be about the birthday party and ended up being... well, not entirely about the party.   
> I hope you'll enjoy it anyways :)

Oberyn and Alayne ended up sleeping in her bed, holding each other close, breathing into the other. Every time one moved, so would the other, and not once did they let go of one another. They were an entangled mess of limbs and fright, trying to find comfort in warm bodies, to find company in the only kin they trusted. Oberyn's skin smelled like sun and sand, and Alayne wanted to wrap him around her and get lost in his world, leave this one behind and never look back. She felt a strange and powerful kinship towards him that she had never felt before, not even in her early days, when her mother and big brother meant the whole world to her, and her only fear was leaving them. It occurred to her as she felt him stir against her skin, his face brushing her collarbone and an arm coiled around her hips, that she had found her soul-mate in him, the one person in this world that could see her, truly see her, and still accept her for who she was. The idea made her shiver to her very core, and she woke feeling both bewildered and light-hearted. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, locking him tightly in her embrace, and smiled.

_Winterfell might be burnt and buried_ , she thought, _but the wolves have survived_. _I have survived._

She trailed kisses on his neck, light and slow, thinking that she would never be alone again. Oberyn barely stirred, but she felt him smile against her skin, felt goosebumps on his arms, and knew she had awakened him.

“Well, isn't that a pleasant way to wake up in the morning.”

She giggled as he moved away to look at her, his gaze feeling like balm on an open wound, and couldn't stop smiling as she watched him yawn and stretch. He went back to her a few seconds after, spreading her legs softly apart to accommodate him against her, pushing her on the mattress with his weight, kissing her from heart to collarbone . Alayne felt a familiar warmth spread through her, curling her toes and waking up her whole body, jolting forward as she heard him whisper on her skin:

“Gods, I could get used to this.”

His kisses moved up to her neck, leaving bright red marks on Alayne that burnt her so good that it took all of her to stifle the moan that was rising in her belly. He was soft and slow, taking his time between each touch to listen and feel her heartbeat in her veins. He soon grew bold as Alayne was writhing under him, and he continued, punctuating his words with a light touch:

“Every day” - he nibbled on her jaw, and Alayne felt like she was flying - “waking up to you” - he went to her chin, his touch feeling like second chances - “holding me like I'm the only person in the world that matters.”

And his lips were on hers, kissing her with a quiet fervour, and Alayne swore she saw stars in the background somewhere in her mind. For her, kissing Oberyn was like kissing a lover she had known for many years, familiar and yet brand new, like sunshine and fresh air after too many days passed in the dark. She liked those lazy kisses, but felt a little uneasy when they changed to sizzling embraces that sucked life right out of her. Uneasy that Oberyn wanted more than what she was prepared to offer him, and uneasy that she wanted to offer it all anyways. Her body tensed towards him, but she gently pushed him away.

“Oberyn”, she protested meekly, “please. Stop.”

She felt him relax almost immediately between her arms, as if he had become clay for her to mould, hoping she wouldn't run from him, gingerly looking at her, unsure but unafraid. She was breathless under him, staring up into his eyes. She could see the dark desire in him, the power, and the yearning for intimacy, not sexual, no; but spiritual. He wanted to become one, but knew no other way than sex, and this realization shattered her heart. She wrapped herself around him like vine, so tightly that even they could not distinguish where they began and ended, placed her hands on his cheeks, kissing him almost too softly for him to feel before tenderly whispering to him :

“There is no one else in the world that matters to me as you do, my love; you and I, we are family. We will be together, always. We _will_ get used to this, waking up together, falling into each other, and we _will_ get used to falling asleep together, too. You belong to me, just as I belong to you.”

Her words, like an old soothing lullaby long forgotten, changed something in the man who heard them. She felt something primal, something deep inside of him stir. His eyes cleared, leaving him open between her arms, as she finished, sweetly:

“There is no need to hide from me.”

Oberyn simply looked at her for a while, unmoving, before smiling down at her, kissed her forehead, making her close her eyes.

“Thank you.”

 

They stayed entwined in each other for a while more, talking about past lives and insignificant experiences they could never try again, between lazy embraces and howling laughter, watching the sun rise up the windows before rising themselves. Alayne was free for the day since Tyrion had cancelled on her again, but Oberyn was not.

According to him, he had to go on meetings with several employees of his brother's company, and – in his own words – scare the living hell out of them, make them find their way back on the right path. He made her laugh as he dressed, telling her about his job – he made sure the Martell company was doing well, gently giving pushes when needed, as he would today – and she told him that it suited him very well.

“My warrior snake.” She said it with pride in her voice and her chin up, a smile firmly lodged on her lips. He turned from the mirror to her, still half-naked and in bed, and gave her a look that would have caused her to fall had she been standing. He left almost an hour later after spending too much time kissing her everywhere, making her squirm and giggle and ticklish, after she tried to push him away because her stomach was aching after laughing too much, after she started kissing him back when he ventured on her lips. She could tell he wanted to stay, but she knew his work was important, as he was helping his family prosper. She pushed him off her bed and shivered as he howled with laughter.

“You are coming back tonight, though, right ?” she inquired as he opened the door, making him grin his crooked smile. He simply tipped an imaginary hat off his head, and left just as Jeyne was coming round the corner.

Alayne heard him laugh as Jeyne came in and closed the door behind her, frowning as she saw Alayne still in bed, undressed and blissful.

“Is that what you call 'two minutes'?”

It made Alayne shrug and smile, getting up and stretching.

“We had things to say, I guess.”

She made her way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on, followed by her manager who was struggling to keep her voice down.

“Tell me you did not forget the Yunkai diplomat.”

“I did not, Jeyne. I wish I had, though – he was a boring old mop.”

“An extremely rich boring old mop, Alayne. And an incredibly generous one at that. Did he book another appointment ?”

“No, he didn't. Tea ?”

“Alayne !”

Alayne rolled her eyes and made herself a strong cup of tea. “Look, I'm sorry, Jeyne, but I clearly wasn't a match for him. He likes to talk finance and politics, and I was just out of my league. Find someone more suited to him, and I guarantee he'll be asking for seconds.”

Jeyne raised an eyebrow. “Finance and politics ?”

Alayne sipped her tea quietly as she listened to Jeyne ramble about the girls, navigating through the tablet she always carried with her, before asking her something she had often wondered:

“Do you have any clients, Jeyne ?”

Jeyne's head shot up, looking at Alayne in disbelief. “Me ? Gods, no.”

“Maybe you should try. It would do you good.”

“Who do you take me for ?”

“One of us.” Alayne simply stated, effectively silencing her manager's anger. She was considering it, Alayne could tell by the look in her eyes, seriously enough to shut down for a few seconds. Jeyne soon came back to life, though, shaking her head and crossing her arms on her chest.

“Instead of saying stupid things, tell me what is going on with you and Oberyn Martell. And Tyrion Lannister, too, while you're at it.”

“There is nothing going on, Jeyne. They are both clients.” Alayne tried to keep her composure, her heart betraying her as she started to hear its beat in her ears.

“Except that Tyrion Lannister keeps canceling on you, and Oberyn Martell now spends nights in your bed. Is Tyrion jealous that you're shacking up with a rival ?”

“Look, Jeyne, I simply do not know what to tell you.”

“How about you tell me whether or not I need to make a change to your bio on the website ?”

Alayne frowned, putting down her mug, feeling anger rising in her stomach. “Are you asking if I'm fucking Martell ?”

“Well, him or Tyrion, it makes no difference in the end. So, are you ?”

“No, I am not. My virginity is still very much intact, thank you very much.”

“Well, you should maybe consider selling it, and fast. People are already starting to lose interest: a few of your clients have dropped you for other girls.”

“I am not selling my virginity, Jeyne.”

“Fine. Don't. But don't go around blaming me when no one wants to see you any more. Toodles.”

Jeyne left as quickly as she came in, leaving Alayne with the desire to kill. She gritted her teeth, frustrated, and let out a groan. It did not matter much that she was losing clients, for she did not need the money nor did she need the distraction, but she did need the information they could give her. She had chosen them specifically, after all, and it annoyed her that she had been too focused on Tyrion and what he could give her to realize her other clients were starting to look elsewhere. She would have to get the names of those who deserted her company from Jeyne at a later date, but, for now, there were other things that needed to be done. Finding a way to vent the anger she was feeling, for example.

Alayne grabbed her work out clothes, put on her sneakers, and headed to the gym on one of the lower floor. She was no regular at the facility, but she had been there enough, especially in the beginning. She had spent a lot of sleepless nights punching bags in the air, picturing them to be Joffrey. She decided against boxing for today, however, and headed for the treadmill, listening to the same album she always did when exercising, letting endorphins wash over her, mind and body. She pushed herself to go further, running after the rush she always felt after a good jog, and she, for a while at least, forgot about all the things that usually plagued her mind.

Her rest, however, was short lived, as her phone soon started ringing, disrupting her music. She quickly decelerated and looked down at the device.

_Tyrion._

It surprised her that he would call, as he had always told her he distrusted cellphones, but she wasn't about to let the opportunity to talk to him pass. She answered, breathless, moving away to find a quiet and empty room.

“Hello ?”

“Hi.” Tyrion sounded sheepish and quiet, as if he believed he had done something wrong, making Alayne smile. She responded, exhaling :

“Hi.”

“You sound out of breath.”

“Yeah, I was running.”

“Afraid I would lose my nerve and hang up before you got to me ?”

Alayne giggled. “No, I'm at the gym.”

“Oh.” There was a silence on the other end, before he quickly asked : “Do you want me to call back ?”

“No !” Alayne exclaimed, afraid she would lose her window to see him again. “No, that's fine. I found us a quiet spot to talk.”

“Okay.” Another silence, this one longer and heavier. She was waiting for an explanation that didn't come, and he was waiting to find the courage to be upfront.

“Tyrion, is there something wrong ?”, she ended up asking, “Because you kind of disappeared on me.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry ?” Alayne raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Look, I – I can't do this on the phone. I'll be here in an hour or so, okay ?”

Tyrion quickly hung up, leaving Alayne unable to answer him and feeling quite anxious. He had seemed to look for his words, unsure of how to proceed, and she found it odd that a man who had made his career out of words might suddenly be short of them. There was something wrong, she could sense it. She tried to prepare herself for whatever he could swing at her, strengthening her resolve, as she went home and got as ready as she could to meet him.

 

He arrived about five minutes after she had finished dressing up, looking upset and jittery, which in turn made Alayne feel nervous. He barely looked up at her as he came in and moved about the room with habit. He only started to speak after she presented him with a glass of the strongest alcohol she had - whiskey from the Iron Islands -, after he swallowed it whole and cleared his throat. Alayne was sitting on her divan, trying not to disrupt his thoughts, watching him as he moved.

“Look, Alayne, I'm sorry I cancelled on you at the last minute. It's just, well – I'm embarrassed.”

She frowned. “About what ?”

“What I said to you the last time I was here was inappropriate.”

He was still evading her gaze, and poured himself a second drink, which he drained in one gulp as well.

“Look, Tyrion -”

“No, let me finish.” He cleared his throat again, and looked up at her for the first time since he came in. Alayne could read sadness in his eyes, and she felt a blow on her heart. “ The first few times we met, you set up the boundaries and I try, Alayne, I try respecting them, it's just – I can't any more. There are some of them I have to cross, otherwise I might end up crazy. Well, crazier.”

Alayne couldn't tell where he was going with this and simply watched as he spoke.

“We have been meeting for almost two years, now, and every time feels like going home after an horrible day. You are a real friend, Alayne, and I end up thinking how good it would be to just be with you. And I don't mean physically,” - he had noticed the blush that had spread on Alayne's cheeks - “ I simply mean that I want more. And I sometimes forget that you're just paid company.”

“Wow, ouch.”

The answer flew out of her without any hesitation. Even though she knew that what he was saying was true, Alayne couldn't help but feel a little hurt.

“ _Just_ paid company, huh ?”

“No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

“No, you're right. You pay me, and handsomely too, to listen to you and play chess with you and eat dinner with you. We shouldn't shy away from it.”

“I want it to stop, Alayne.”

“What ?” It took her completely by surprise, knocking the wind out of her. _No_.

“I can't do this, any more. Not knowing whether you see me for money or because there is something between us, something that could change everything, is eating me alive. I need to know where we stand. I need you to tell me.”

“Tyrion, I-” Alayne shook her head, not believing what was going on. “I don't know what to say.”

Tyrion approached her, putting his palms on her knees, staring directly into her eyes. He spoke to her softly and sadly, clearly hoping for a heartfelt declaration, either friendship or love. But Alayne couldn't speak. She fought, hard, against the tears that started to rise in her throat, and prayed that Tyrion couldn't tell how upset she was. This changed everything. She had never even considered that Tyrion might start to have feelings for Alayne, real feelings that went beyond practicality. _She was a monster._

“This is my job, Tyrion. This is what I do.” She whispered, staring at his collar to avoid looking in his eyes. “This is my lifeline. Where am I supposed to go if I don't have this ? What am I supposed to do ?”

“You can live with me.”

Alayne scoffed, sniffing back tears of self-pity. “And live with your family ? No, thank you.”

“We wouldn't live in the mansion, I'm not that much of a masochist. We'll have our own place.”

He sounded hopeful, and it pierced her heart.

“Suppose we do move in together, Tyrion. I won't be working and you'll have to pay for me, instead of paying me.”

“It won't be the same, Alayne, and you know it. We would be happy.”

Alayne blinked, incredulous. “You do not know anything about me. I am not the person that you want me to be, nor will I ever be. That doesn't make for happy. And I don't want you unhappy.”

“Alayne, I can't pay to see you any more.”

“Then don't.” She shrugged, meeting his eyes. “I don't care if you do or not, just don't – don't go anywhere, okay ?”

“Okay.”

There was something in the air between them, like awkwardness and contentment, that satisfied neither of them. Alayne wanted to kick herself for being this selfish, but she didn't know what else to do to keep him around.

“I tell you what -” Tyrion took her hands in his, and kissed them softly. “- Let's go to the party together tomorrow night. We will drink too much, make fun of people – especially my sister and her son, as I am sure they will find some way to embarrass the Lannister name on the holy occasion of my nephew's birthday – and we get to dress up for the occasion.”

_Joffrey._ An invisible hand choked her heart at the mention of him. _His birthday – she had forgotten._

“You know, it almost sounds like fun.” Her answer fell out of her mouth almost automatically, as her mind was stuck on this recollection.

Unaware, Tyrion chuckled, then kissed her cheek. “I'll see you tomorrow, then ?”

Alayne smiled up at him, nodding in agreement. They stared at each other for a second before she watched him leave the room silently. Her smile dropped, however, as soon as the door closed.

_Joffrey._

A wave of hatred and disgust washed over her at the mention of the name, but her eyes shone fiercely. She was so close to the end, so close to her goal, to her salvation that she felt sick with frustration, a feeling she had become familiar with in the first months after Sansa's death. It took her two years and a lot of effort, but she was almost there. She could feel it in her blood, in her bones. She could almost hear him yelp, hear the weak pleas that would come out of his mouth as she would make her way to him, hear the blood that would gush from his body the moment her blade would pierce him. She felt dizzy with anticipation, her heart beating loudly in her chest, echoing the drums of war Joffrey had set on her. He had played with her, her body and her mind, and he had killed her family. And he was going to _die._ She was going to _kill_ him.

Giggles burst out of Alayne's mouth without control, making her feel like she was going crazy, like she had lost her mind for good this time. She was almost free, she will soon be able to breathe fresh air and see the sun run above her head, she could go home, finally; and soon her laughter turned to sobs and tears. She was almost free, free of this horrible desire for vengeance, free of the shackles it had put on her, free of the blood, free of the rancor and free from this place. Once it was done, she could go anywhere. Do anything. Be anyone.

_Be Sansa Stark again_.

But it soon dawned on her : she couldn't, though, could she ? No. Sansa Stark was dead.

And once Alayne Stone had killed Joffrey Baratheon, and left him broken and scarred, and exposed for the whole world to see, even Alayne would have to die.

_I will never be free._

Alayne fell to the floor as she sobbed harder, curled into a ball on the floor, wishing for her parents, for guidance, for help. She prayed for forgiveness and for strength, closing her eyes, letting the world fall silent around her, undisrupted except for her cries. She hugged her knees, her eyes tightly shut, locking herself in her fantasy world to escape this one. Her body shook with each sob, but was soon calmed as Lady had come to get her, her sweet howl a balm on Alayne's mind.

She must have fallen asleep after that, as she came to under her covers in her bed, the shower running in the bathroom. _Oberyn_. She smiled. _Thank the Gods_. It was a comfort to know he was there, and that she could tell him exactly how she was feeling, without fear or embarrassment. She took off her pants and bra, keeping only her shirt and waited for her kin to join her for the night.

 

Oberyn had been prepared, this time, as he had brought an overnight bag with him – she noticed it in a corner of the bedroom -; and yet, he still wasn't wearing more than his underwear to get into bed with her. And Alayne tried not to stare, she really did, but she couldn't help herself. He was gorgeous and he knew it, and she could tell by his smile that he was glad she found him attractive. He slid next to her, waiting for her to come closer, to touch him and breathe life back into his lungs.

“Are you all right, my little wolf ?” he inquired sweetly, searching for answers in her eyes. “I thought you were sick, or worse.. I was so worried.”

“Something occurred to me.” She whispered as she scooted closer to him, placing her fingers on his chest, closing her eyes when he surrounded her with his arm.

“Tell me.”

“I will never be Sansa Stark again.”

Alayne's voice broke as she uttered her name, shattering her heart and her soul. He buried his face in her hair, keeping quiet, only sending her his love through his touch. He allowed her to cry in his arms without question, only assuring her that he was there. He waited until she had stopped, until she was well enough to look at him, to inquire further details.

“What happened ?” He stroked her cheek, love radiating from his gaze, giving Alayne courage.

“I was thinking about how close I was to Joffrey,” she gulped, and felt Oberyn harden at the name. “and about how, once I have killed him, once it is all over, Alayne Stone will have to die, too. If I want to leave, to stay alive, then I will have be nameless.”

“No.” He was adamant, and stern, and made Alayne shiver with his determination. “No, I will not let Alayne die. She belongs to me as I belong to her, and I will not let anything happen to her.”

“Promise me.”

He took her face between his palms. “Alayne will live, long, and she will be free. She will be mine. That, I promise you, my wolf.”

They smiled at one another, finding bliss between each other's arms, talking about how and when they should execute their plan. They ended up sleeping very little, too engrossed in talking to care, once again wrapped in a mess of limbs and feelings. Alayne felt so much better, just by listening to Oberyn, thinking that if Sansa and Alayne were to disappear forever, she would always find herself to be someone very special in her snake's arms. They talked about the morrow's party, how they should behave when the Lannisters show up – the patriarch wouldn't attend, he never did; but Tyrion had said Cersei would be there, and Joffrey, too, which meant henchmen would follow them flies – and whether or not they should wait. Alayne didn't want to, but Oberyn told her that she wasn't yet ready, that she needed to learn to fight dirty first. He promised to teach her death and venom, and she promised to dance on their grave, something that made Oberyn laugh merrily. They fell asleep as the sun rose up, Oberyn's hands on her naked waist, making her weak in the knees; and her whole body stretched to touch every last bit of him, with one of her legs finding its way to his hips.

 

The day after passed as quickly as thunder, with both Alayne and Oberyn too busy with last minute preparations to see much of each other. They managed to get ready in the same room, however, ensuring that they could talk freely.

“This is it, my wolf.” Oberyn stated as he watched her put on dark red lipstick. She was almost done as she only had to put on her dress, and he was completely dressed. His bowtie hung on his collar and his sleeves were rolled up, but he exuded masculinity and oozed sex as he stood. Alayne knew that he would seduce women out of their pants dozens at a time tonight, and she felt a little pain at the idea that he would have another woman's legs around him. She knew he did it to get ahead, to get information for them to use later, but she was far from happy about it. She looked up at him, and watched as he moved above her. “Are you ready ?” he inquired.

“Oh, Gods, yes.” Her heart set a hard rhythm as she shuddered under Oberyn's sizzling look. They felt powerful and alive, and they communicated that through dazzling smiles in the other's direction.

He kissed her forehead and started to move away, but Alayne stood and grabbed his hand.

“Oberyn ?” she pulled on his arm to get him to turn back to her.

“Yes ?”

She heard a tremor in his voice as he hooked her fingers on the buckles of his belt and took a step closer to him. She was looking up at him, unsure of exactly what she was doing, but she knew she couldn't be stopped.

“When Cersei's arms and legs will surround you and she gets to shout your name in pleasure, I want you to think about me.”

She watched as lights went out of Oberyn's eyes and as they turned in the already familiar blackened desire, very aware that she felt hot, and bothered, and oddly powerful.

“Should I imagine it is you between my arms, little wolf ?”

His voice was low and throaty and filled with lust, something that made Alayne quiver. She gave a little yelp as he grabbed her by the waist and as she found herself hauled on his hips. She held onto his shoulders, hypnotized by his stare, but stood her ground.

“Yes.”

She was faintly aware that he was getting aroused and excited, but it didn't stop her as it should have, and her heart went still as her back was against a wall, unable to move in any way but against him.

“Should I pretend you are the one that is crying out my name ?”

“Yes.”

It was getting increasingly harder for her to breathe, but she was not the only one as Oberyn clearly had trouble talking, too.

“Are you jealous, my wolf ?”

“Yes.”

They were not moving except to speak, not touching except to hold Alayne in place, her hips pushed on the wall by his, his hands on either side of her head, and her own holding on his neck for dear life, but there was electricity in the air, and yearning, too. It was thick around them, stealing breaths and unspoken words.

“Good.” Oberyn's words dripped with lust. “It is true I am lucky in our roles tonight, for if I had to be the one watching you seduce another man, he would be dead within minutes.” His throaty threats sent tremors through Alayne's brain, and she grew aware of a wetness spreading between her thighs; something she had not experienced since she had straddled Oberyn on her couch all those months ago, and her hips had found themselves moving to an unfamiliar rhythm. It didn't occur to her that Oberyn had felt it too, but he had; he instantly hardened between her legs and closed his eyes. His lips travelled to her neck as Alayne threw her head back, to her shoulder and her chest, sometimes biting her soft skin, making her whimper.

“You be good, tonight, little wolf.”, he whispered on her heart, and Alayne bit back a moan, her fingers tugging his hair.

“I don't really want to.” she answered, breathless, wishing for the kissing to start again, for more, quickly. She heard him chuckle on her skin, and he moved up to look at her.

“As much as I may want to keep this up, and as much as I believe fucking you would be glorious, you are right. Our bodies do not belong to us as long as we are consumed by revenge.”

“Glorious, huh ?” It was all that Alayne could say to hide her disappointment, which made Oberyn give her a wicked grin.

“Oh, yes. I can't wait.”

“Oh, but apparently you can.” She said it with a half smile and Oberyn laughed with his whole body, and tension left them as it had arrived, leaving them happy and in each other's arms. Their embrace was cut short, however, as a knock was heard on Alayne's door. They both froze, still staring at each other, as Alayne shouted :

“Just a minute !”

Before Oberyn had time to move, she grabbed him and planted a kiss on his lips. “Think about me”, she reminded him before pushing him away. “Now hide ! Go !”

He laughed as he grabbed his bag and clothes, and left Alayne with a promise.

“Trust me, little wolf, I will think of you.”

He left with a wink as Alayne shouted in direction of the door.

“You can come in, but no peeking. I'm not ready yet.”

She heard the door open as she straightened her hairdo, and Tyrion greeted her. She heard him walk through her living room, painfully aware that Oberyn was hiding somewhere and probably day dreaming about how he could eliminate the competition; and so she hurried in putting on her dress, a nude see-through fabric that covered her and yet showed everything, that she slipped on a corset that hid her chest to thighs. A simple belt tied it all together, and a pair of nude ballet shoes finished her outfit. It was something that made her incredibly bold, as it was daring and incredible sexy in the light of day, but in the dim lights of the party, it was elegant and sophisticated. She gathered her thoughts as she checked on her hair and make-up, hoping and praying that Tyrion wouldn't notice how flustered she was. She took a minute to work on her breathing, carefully letting her mask fall back into place, before she was ready to meet Tyrion.

He was quietly looking out the window when she walked in, and looked quite handsome in his black tuxedo. He had gone for a tie, which Alayne liked less that a bow tie, but it suited him perfectly. He turned around as he heard her steps, and his mouth fell open as he examined her from head to toe.

“Wow.” It was all that came out of his mouth, which made Alayne giggle.

“Thank you. You look quite dapper yourself.”

“I'm not sure I can hold a candle to you, though.”

Alayne shook her head, sighed, then extended her hand. “Shall we go ?”

 

The immense ballroom was already full when they came in, the jazz orchestra the Hotel hired playing in the centre of it all. Alayne clutched Tyrion's hand to avoid losing him in the crowd, unwilling to be left alone among that many people dancing, talking, and moving from group to group. They settled at a table in the back, and Alayne tried to keep to herself, keep in the background, as many came to shake Tyrion's hand. She had – thank the Gods – found a waitress that refilled her drink as soon as it was gone, and scanned the room for Joffrey. He didn't seem to be there yet, however, and she was left to wonder if he were ditching his own party. Tyrion would make her laugh whenever they were alone, telling her in great details the lives of all that came to greet him that night. It was impressive to Alayne that he seemed to know everything about everyone, but he only assured her that it was part of his job.

She was starting to feel dizzy thanks to the amount of booze she was going through – she was so nervous at the idea of seeing Joffrey that she was drinking like a sailor - when a chill ran through her shoulders and she felt the man beside her stiffen. She heard the murmur of the crowd before she saw them, but she knew they were here. Cersei and Joffrey Baratheon, two of the most despicable people she ever had the misfortune to meet, but also two of the most powerful people in Westeros. Her stomach was burning with an intense passion, and she immediately fancied herself walking up to them and planting her knife in their hearts right here and now. Of course, it didn't help that Cersei was walking with her arm linked to Oberyn's, and Alayne had to gather all of her strength not to break character. She kept a cool expression on her face, almost bored, her chin up and back straight. If she was to be insulted and oogled by lions, she might as well take it in style.

They didn't come up to them before they had greeted anyone who was anyone at the party, which meant that Tyrion and Alayne had time to gather their strength and give each other advice and rousing pep talks. They were deep in conversation with two members of the City Council when Alayne saw Cersei and Oberyn walk up to them, blending in the conversation like true socialites. It amazed and bewildered Alayne to see her fallen idol in the flesh once again. What she once thought was beauty had been revealed to her to be only a front, for what this lioness was was cunning, ruthless, and above all envious. She remembered feeling like Cersei was everything she wanted to be, tall and brave and powerful; but she now only wanted to make her fall.

Alayne tried not to catch Oberyn's eye, although she felt it on her more than once, for fear that adoration would read in her eyes, nor did she address either of them – to be fair, Cersei didn't even look towards her, even if she could feel waves of contempt directed at her -. She was too busy tracking the moves of the younger Baratheon who seemed to be in the midst of dazzling young socialites who still believed what they read about him. For all intents and purposes, Joffrey _was_ a catch : he was the heir to a dynasty that spanned generations, immensely rich, handsomely debonair, and he could make you feel as if the only person in the world he could see was you. She knew that very well, having fallen for the same discourse these girls were being fed at this very moment.

Before she knew what was happening, she had gulped down her drink and excused herself out of the conversation. In the corner of her eye, she saw something change in Oberyn's look, but she was by then too far gone. She was walking towards Joffrey, pulled towards him by an unknown force she didn't question, the beginnings of a speech forming in the back of her mind. She stepped up to him, waited until he noticed her and turned to her, the girls and his whole rhetoric forgotten as he assessed her from head to toe.

“Hi.” She was calm, and cool, and none of her movements or expressions betrayed her heart beating so loudly in her chest, or her feelings of nausea and anxiety. “My name is Alayne Stone. I believe you know my employer ?”

A look of realization dawned on his face. “Are you my birthday gift ?” He didn't seemed surprised at all, but rather flattered and entitled. A cocky grin was plastered across his face, which made Alayne want to slap it off him; but she only raised an eyebrow, a hand on her hip.

“Happy Birthday.”

She hoped no one could hear the poison on her tongue, and see it more as an attempt for flattery and seduction. He extended her arm towards her, her beauty empowering him in the eyes of all, and, in Alayne's mind, all was forgotten but the desire to finally get what was owed to her.

_Yes_ , she thought as she took his arm and linked it with hers, _**tonight is the night**_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, I modelled Alayne's dress after one Kristen Stewart wore for a twilight premiere (find a picture here : http://media.twirlit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/kristen-stewart-lace-nude-dress.jpg) :)  
> As always, feedback is always welcome, be it good or bad !


	4. Ambition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a while.   
> I think I may have started it four times before I got it right, and there are still things I'm not very happy about. But this is what I came up with and what flew out of my keyboard :)   
> I hope you'll like it xx  
> PS : I respond to the comments that you guys send me so feel free to read them for my answers to your questions :)

Joffrey paraded her around the room as if she were a trophy he had won for some heroic deed he had made up in his mind, introducing her to some of the most powerful people in all of Westeros as a reward for his bravery. In his mind, she was nothing more than a conversation starter, not worth his time or his attention. He simply went around loudly boasting about his wealth and his courage, using her to spark a discussion, and expected everyone to follow as he walked away; which they did, of course, eager for a chance to impress him, or afraid of repercussions if they did not follow.

It was an easy task for Alayne to stay silently gorgeous in the background, smiling at everyone and no one at the same time, firstly because she had had a lot of practice – Joffrey constantly used to remind Sansa that her only good, redeeming trait besides her name was her Tully beauty -, and secondly, because Joffrey made it extremely easy to be nothing else but a shell. Not once did he treat her as a human being; to him, she was no more than an object to use to gather jealousy and envy in the heart of the people he talked at and who gawked at him. She did not mind, however, as her objectives were not to be liked or even lusted after by the boy prince, but rather to pique his interest just enough for him to want more. She played along with his self centered attitude, praising him when he wanted to be praised, touching him when he wanted to be touched. She was a perfect idiot for him, just the way he liked his admirers to be; and she would have been okay with waiting all night if it meant getting some time with him, alone.

Her plan, her determination and all her will, however, were all but thrown out the window when she noticed Oberyn slipping discreetly away from the party with a rather drunk Cersei on his arm. She had known that it was his objective for the night, getting Cersei away from everyone else and get some answers out of her – her love of alcohol made that incredibly easy to do – but it bit her all the same than if he truly wanted her. She gritted her teeth, quickly looking back at Joffrey – in the middle of making up a story about beating up thousands of his 'enemies' with his own hands, and the crowd around him responding with 'oohs' and 'aahs' – trying to stay anchored in her path. Joffrey was her goal, the one she needed to pay attention to, the monster under her bed; Oberyn and his own path needed to wait. She even turned her back on the exits, willed herself to imagine that she and Joffrey were the only ones standing in that huge room shaking with life, but it was no use.

There was a pit in her stomach, a gaping hole that burned her from the inside out, leaving her ignited and angry. She knew she shouldn't, knew that it was all fake, but she couldn't help it. Her vision narrowed and her heart was beating fast, and all she wanted to do was scream and show everyone just how mad she felt. She could sense it, sense _them_ , sense how Cersei Lannister was shivering under Oberyn's touch as he kissed her, and how she was responding with her own embrace, and she wondered, repeatedly, if the her Red Viper of Dorne was enjoying it, asking for more, forgetting everything that she had ever done to him, to herself, to dozens of other people. Cersei Lannister was no murderer, but she had blood on her hands all the same; and those hands of hers were now soiling her white knight.

She tried to shake it off, to rationalize it, to remind herself he did not want this more than she did, but all she saw was a dark room and an unmade bed in the center of it, and her mind kept wanting to see herself there, it should have been _her_ there, not _Cersei Lannister._ But it couldn't, he had told her that earlier; and so the prize she so desperately wanted now had been snatched away from her. Her body was starting to tremble with rage, and she grabbed a drink from a waiter passing by, gulped it down, and, with a stroke of madness, marched away from Joffrey and towards Tyrion. She was no idiot, and she could see that she would get nowhere tonight, not in this mindset, not while her thoughts were otherwise engaged. _How come it is okay for him to go gallivanting about, but I have to be still and sensible ?_ She was reeling.

 

Tyrion was still talking to the same person, a dignitary from the west, reminiscing about long summers in Casterly Rock – Tyrion's childhood town – and ranting about how steep the price of gold had been over the last two years. He took no notice of her coming back but a quick glance when she approached them, and kept on debating whether or not the Bank of Westeros needed a new leader than Petyr Baelish; and she took no notice of the disdain he was showing her, much too engrossed in her own problems. She tried to keep her emotions to herself, to keep a cool appearance and a level head, at least until the man had gone and she was left alone with Tyrion. She smiled and nodded throughout their conversation, letting not one ounce of anger slip through, no matter how betrayed she felt. Even amidst this whirlwind of feelings, Alayne knew the importance of a mask, and she would be damned before she let hers fall.

_Bastard_ , she thought, trying not to stare at the door Oberyn had disappeared through, and failing miserably. Y _ou better not be enjoying it_. She grabbed another glass and finished it in one gulp, a sign of inner turmoil that Tyrion noticed and that made him pay closer attention to her, apologizing to the man he had been talking to and effectively ending the discussion.

“Are you all right ?” he inquired, the words burning his throat on the way out.

“I'm bored. Let's leave.”

Tyrion cocked his head and gave her a mocking smirk, something that Alayne chose to ignore.

“I'm sorry, is my nephew not interesting enough for you ?”

“He's really – how shall I put this nicely – into himself.”

Tyrion chuckled, and raised his brow. “So are you.”

She frowned, and shifted her attention back on him. “I'm not into Joffrey.”

“I meant that you, too, are really into yourself.”

_Where did that come from ?_ Alayne was surprised to hear this, as Tyrion had never once complained about her. She knew herself well enough to know that she could be a little self-centered at times, but with him, she had never been anything but exemplary. She crossed her arms as Tyrion glared at her.

“I'm sorry ?”

Tyrion simply looked at her, a smirk on his lips. “You heard me.”

“Are you mad at me ?”

He gulped down the drink he had been holding, putting it away with a jerk of his hand.

“I don't know, Alayne. Am I ?”

She searched his eyes for a sign of anger or frustration, but all she saw was jealousy. It knocked her off her feet, completely shocked that she had not seen it before. How could she have missed this, _again_ ? She was beginning to understand how thin the ice was under her feet, and how wrong she had been to play with Tyrion's feelings. She had never given it a second thought, but he clearly had. She forced herself to remain calm upon understanding this, to not show him any ounce of remorse.

“Tyrion, there is clearly something you want off your chest. So let's just leave and deal with it. Okay ?”

After what felt an incredibly long moment to her, Tyrion nodded and took her arm to escort her back out. They remained silent up until they reached her threshold, at which point Tyrion shut the door behind him, slightly shaking.

He _is_ angry, Alayne realized, knowing full well that Lannister blood and anger did not match well. She retreated back into the living room, pouring out two glasses of whisky, on the rocks for her and neat for him, trying to control her heart pounding in her chest. Fear was already sipping through her veins, despite her brain's attempt at rationalization, and she found that her brain was scanning the room, trying to find anything that might be used as a weapon.

He was looking at her as if he would look at a stranger, someone he was only seeing for the first time, and not the friend he thought he had in her. She handed him his glass and sat down on the table, hiding the knife she used to open her mail under her bottom in the same movement, and hugged her knees in a weak attempt to protect herself.

“I'm tired, Alayne.”

She looked up at him, swallowing with difficulty, trying to contain her unease and her fear.

“This is your last chance.” Tyrion continued, hardened and determined. “Tell me how you feel about me.”

“Tyrion, I -”

“No. No more distractions, no more illusions. Give me the truth. Don't you think I deserve the fucking truth ?”

Even though he never raised his voice, his fury was tangible, and it surrounded Alayne like a fog. She found it harder and harder to look him in the eyes, and settled on a spot somewhere on his chest. Her voice trembled like a weak child's when she finally replied.

“You're scaring me.”

“Good. Maybe that will tell you that I'm done with you playing with me.”

“I am not playing with you. I am not ! It's just – things have changed.”

He clearly did not believe her, or else he did not want to. “What things ?”

“I can't say.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes and moved away. “That's awfully convenient.”

This small gesture had Alayne scoffing, her own exasperation coming to life and dissipating the fear that had been binding her before.

“Fuck you, Tyrion.”, she hissed. “I'm trying, here, all right ? But I'm not the one who left without a word for days on end, and then came back out of the blue saying things like 'I like you', or 'I want more'.”

“Are you trying to pin this out on me ?”

“I'm just saying that you need to calm down because you are scaring me, and that I am actually this close to call hotel security. Now that would be a sight in the papers tomorrow.”

“Threats. Really ? Is this what we're doing, now ?”

Alayne swallowed with difficulty, looking purposefully at his jacket. She had gone a step too far now, but it was not her fault if the man opposite her had trouble adjusting. She had to keep herself safe, after all, and Oberyn would not come and save her tonight. Tyrion sighed and drank, leaning on the window opposite her. They were silent for a few minutes, during which Alayne focused on breathing and calming her nerves. She never left Tyrion out of her sight, even though she knew he was over his anger and even though she knew that he would never intentionally hurt her.

“Are you in any danger, Alayne ?” Tyrion ended up asking, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I'm not. At least, I don't think that I am. But I would be if I told you anything.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“You are helping, Tyrion. You just don't know it yet.”

Tyrion did not seem to believe her; it was plainly written on his face. He still opted not to say anything about it and let it slide, but there were other things he needed to get out of his chest.

“I'm still mad at you for spending our evening with Joffrey instead of me.”

“Oh.”

She chuckled softly, trying to soothe and reassure him. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she let go of knees, feet falling softly on the floor.

“Huge mistake on my part – he is nothing compared to you.”

“He is younger, more handsome.” _And not a dwarf like me_ , his body language seemed to say.

She scoffed, jerking one hand away in a quick motion. “He's an arsehole.”

“What am I, then ?”

He looked at her expectantly, hoping for an answer Alayne was not willing to give, not while she was so unsure of her standing. She forced herself not to look away, and keep her answer short and sweet.

“A friend.”

“Ah. A friend.”

On his tongue, the word rolled like an insult, and he chuckled, quite sadly. He went to her drink cabinet to refill his glass, Alayne observing him silently. And, before she could help herself, words rolled out of her like water, after which she cringed, hard, not believing what she had said.

“Do you have feelings for me, Tyrion ? Is this why you're so mad at me ?”

He didn't respond, at first; he drank his whisky slowly – Alayne still hadn't touched hers – and then turned to her.

“Yes, I do.” He took a pause there and looked like he just had had his heart pulled out of his chest. “Gods help me, I do. And watching you, knowing that _you_ don't, hurts me. Looking at you feels like a blow to the heart.”

Alayne swallowed, and closed her eyes. She whispered : “I didn't mean to. I promise.”

“I believe you. But here we are nonetheless.”

She mustered all her courage to look at him, ignoring her body's reaction to the news, following her head on a path to discovery. “Is it because I look like her ? Sansa Stark ?”

“At first. That's why I chose you, all those months ago,at least.”

Alayne nodded, licking her lips, looking away. The words that needed to come out of her hurt her soul and her heart, and she was sure that, once they were out, they would hurt him too, but they still needed to be said, and Alayne gathered her strength, clasping her hands together.

“I can't be Sansa, Tyrion. I can't.”

They were whispers in an oppressing silence, echoing through their veins, burning them from the inside out. She could see how Sansa would always be between them, a ghost that followed the both of them wherever they would go, and she would make forgetting her, moving on past her, so hard that she didn't see how they ever could.

“Sansa -” the name was soft in his mouth, caressed and petted, and lay heavy with implications. “- Sansa is in the past. Alayne, you – you could be the future.”

Alayne chuckled, a sound between laughter and a sob, and shook her head.

“No.”

The word rung like a bell in silence, hard and unforgiving.

“There are so many things that you have not yet seen about me. That you do not know about me. And I know -” She held up on hand as she saw Tyrion open her mouth to speak. “- I know that you're going to say that it's okay. That we can get past them, but we cannot. I cannot. There are things that I need to do, and I will not be free until they are done.”

He moved to her like a cat, slowly and purposefully, and stopped just a few centimeters away, close enough to touch her, put his palms on her knees, to stare at her, sadness overflowing his eyes.

“What is it,” he said, so softly that Alayne shivered at the intimacy, “that is so awful, so demanding, that you cannot tell me about or ask for my help when you want to ?”

He didn't seem to be requiring an answer from her as he went on without hesitation or pause.

“You are the one who scares me, now, Alayne; for I am frightened for you.”

“I can handle myself.”

She meant to sound tough or intimidating, but even her own ears heard that she was far from believable. Tyrion said nothing, though, simply smiling feebly, looking for answers in her deep blue eyes. For a long while, there was no sound in the room but their ragged breathing, no movements coming from them, Tyrion's breath smelling like lemon and alcohol, his body so tense that she almost wanted to reach out and soothe him. But she was hypnotized by his eyes, his strange, mismatching eyes that seemed like worlds colliding, and she did not notice Tyrion had moved until she felt his palms on her neck, and his lips on her lips.

For Alayne, whose only experiences with kisses had been awkward encounters with a forceful Joffrey and passionate embraces with an ardent Oberyn, Tyrion's very new kind of kiss – tender, hesitant – was a revelation. It didn't occur to her, not at first, that it was wrong, so wrong, of them; that it was so far off the reservation for her that she ought to move away howling and attacking, no; she simply closed her eyes and let it happen. He pulled away from her after only a second – or so it had felt – his fingers still on her skin, and she saw him stare stare hungrily at her when she opened her eyes back up. On her end of the kiss, Alayne was suspended in time, unable to move, only staring back at the stars in his eyes, letting out a breath she did not know she had been holding. He must have thought it an invitation to start again, her not moving, not speaking; for he leaned back into her and kissed her one more time. This one was different, though, even she could tell. It was a greedy kiss, pressing on her lips until she opened them, transforming into something she could not control. She had to let go, she had to let him lead, but she was afraid of where he might lead her. He did not seem to ask for much out of her though, as he did not purposefully moved his hands lower on her body as she expected him; but his tongue was on her lips, opening them and invading her. She felt mild panic settle in her bones, rising slowly until she found the courage to break the embrace. She moved away abruptly, out of breath, unable to look up at him, turning sideways to hide her face.

_He will not see me cry_ , she thought to herself as she bit away the tears lodged in her throat.

She heard him sigh, but she did not see – could not see – the emotions written plain across his face, and she did not hear the regret and bitterness in his voice as he spoke.

“I should go.”

She nodded swiftly, frozen with inadequacy, waiting until she heard the door open and close behind him before she let out a single sob. She hadn't expected that Tyrion would ever kiss her, had not even anticipated that they could, in fact, kiss, unless she would have initiated it to gain something out of it. What a idiot she was, not to have seen something that was right there in front of her eyes. She had always thought Tyrion came to her because she never asked questions – never upfront, anyway – and because she indulged his boozy lifestyle; but never because he liked her _that_ way. She wanted to bang her head against a wall, and she wanted to hide in a closet, to forget about everything, Tyrion, Joffrey, even Oberyn.

_Oberyn_ ! The thought of him made her jump back up. Where was he ? She checked her phone, anxious for news, and even thought about calling before realizing how much of a bad idea it was. She wondered if he would show up tonight now that the lion had fallen at his feet, if he would come back to her at all after he had shared his bed with royalty. She hoped to the Gods she was not to be alone once more.

 

She sighed, deeply, and got up from the coffee table. Even though there was a knot at the base of her stomach, there wasn't anything she could do except nurture it or hope it would go away if she ignored it enough. She needed to think about something else, something other than the man who was fucking the enemy, and something other than the man who desperately wanted from her what she could not ever give. She lifted her hands to the zipper of her dress, letting it fall around her feet without a sound, taking her shoes off in the same motion. If she was to distract herself, then she needed to shed the last remnant of tonight's events off her skin – clothes, make-up, hair; she needed to shake everything off, shake this feeling of helplessness and of being caught off guard, and start anew, at least for the night. Joffrey knew who she was, now; and it was quite certain that she had angered him when she left his side abruptly and without ever coming back. He wouldn't have noticed her, no, but he would have noticed her departure. He was that kind of a boy, of that she was sure. She'd deal with it tomorrow, though, she was too tired and raw to think about it now.

She undid her hair, pin by pin, finding a hint of red as she went, thinking, as she let her hair fall to her back and shoulders, that she missed her Tully red, that one last piece of lineage that belonged to her and her alone, and that she was tired of having to hide it. If the events of the last few weeks had taught her anything, it was that she missed being Sansa, how easy it had been to be sweet, soft spoken Sansa, but she knew, deep in her heart, that she could never be that fragile, naive Sansa ever again. She missed the feeling of being looked after, of being safe, she missed the safety net of her family name.

She took her make-up off, watching as Alayne transformed back into Sansa, kind, gentle Sansa who liked to sing with birds – what an idiot – and run with her wolf, and she desperately tried to connect with her, but she was too alien to her now. Sansa was in her mirror, but it was Alayne she felt filling her insides, and she was once again torn between two worlds. She missed her mother. Catelyn Stark would know what to say to her, she would have some advice for her. She missed her soft voice that rang with truth and she missed her hands combing her hair. _She missed her father, too_. She missed his strong, able arms that used to carry her to bed when she was too tired to move after long evenings in front of the fire, she messed his gruff voice and his stern face. If Eddard Stark were here, she could be a child again. _Seventeen_. She was seventeen, and she had nothing to show for it but scars on her belly and steel in her soul. She stared at the reflection in the mirror, hoping to see all that she wished to be: strong, confident, ruthless. But instead, she saw fear and fatigue. There were too many monsters for a seventeen year old girl to fight, too many shadows lurking where she once had light. She sighed. Thank the Gods for Oberyn. When he would come back, if he would come back, she would feel better. _Oberyn will know what to say_. She closed her eyes and rubbed her shoulders, reminding herself of his promises. He would not let Alayne fight them alone.

 

She focused on breathing, in, out; long, slow breaths that traveled from her stomach to her nose. She lost herself in the exercise, closing her eyes and closing the door on familiar fears. She was calm, cool, composed by the time she heard something heavy open, then close, and feet stomping in. She opened her eyes, ears wide open, looking for anything she could defend herself with. She was silently picking up sewing scissors, small but sharp,she thought; when she heard Oberyn call out her name. She let the scissors fall back on her vanity table and jumped to the corridor, following the sound.

He was looking for her in the kitchen, but soon emerged out of it and saw her standing there. There was relief in his face, plain as day, but she detected anger in his eyes, hidden under layers of respite and glee as she also noticed the strain on his shoulders, unusual in men who had just enjoyed sex – or so she'd been told, she obviously was lacking experience on that part-. He gritted his teeth and scanned her from head to toe, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and Alayne had to catch herself before she jumped to him. They both stood their ground, staring at each other in the hallway, frustrated at the other's lactions. It was Oberyn that spoke first after minutes of silent observation.

“Are you all right ?”

“I'm fine.” Alayne's voice shook a little, and she cleared her throat. “Are you ?”

“Gods, no. Have you lost your mind ?”

Alayne frowned and opened her mouth to retort something, but he cut her short.

“Don't ever do that again.” He hammered each word in, one hand forming a fist. “Who knows what could have happened to you. No fucking warning, you just throw yourself at him ? No plan, no weapons, no back up. So I'll ask again, have you lost your mind ?”

This time, Alayne decided to stay silent and crossed her arms in front of her. She didn't have to justify her actions, after all, not to man man that lies with lions instead of wolves. She refused to be chastised like a child, she thought, as she glared at him, fierce and tall, refusing to coy under his words.

“Don't look at me like that, little wolf.”

“Then don't treat me like that. Like you know so much better. You ask if I have lost my mind, well, maybe I have. I'm sorry I saw the boy who attacked my family and kept me chained to a wall and had a reaction you were not expecting. But did you really expect me to see Joffrey and do nothing ? Would you have done nothing if Tywin Lannister or the goddamn Mountain had walked in ?”

“That is different.”

“How ?” Alayne almost shouted in indignation.

“I can handle myself.”

He was calm, and that infuriated her. She wanted to insult him, hit him, throw something at him. She wanted him to get mad, to shout, too; she wanted to get a rise out of him. He didn't get to make her feel so angry and feel nothing himself, he didn't.

“And Cersei, too, apparently.”

There. Let him worm his way out of this one.

“Yes, and Cersei, too. Is this what makes you so mad ?”

She swallowed, unwilling to respond. Oberyn cocked his head sideways, a devilish grin spreading on his lips. He knew he had struck the right chord.

“Are you jealous, my wolf ?”

“You did spend the night in _her_ arms, after all.”

She tired to put venom on her words as she had seen him do, but she saw that Oberyn could not care less about that, as she watch his whole body relax. A second later, she was trapped in his arms, heaved on his hips, and he held her so tight her breath was cut off. He kissed her, shoulder to neck, before whispering on her skin :

“And I sooner would have preferred spending it in yours, doing this.”

“Liar.” The accusation didn't sound true, though, and they both knew it. He kissed the base of her neck, his face buried on her skin, sighing.

“You had no idea how scared I was he would take you away. How relieved and thankful I was when I saw he could not care less.”

Alayne held onto his neck and shoulders with all might, too happy to be around him again to frown at his words. But there was still something tucking at the back of her mind, something she could not shake off.

“Did you like it ?”

The question was childish and she knew she probably wouldn't like the answer, but she couldn't help asking it anyway. She wanted to know, to be reassured, almost as much as she wanted to know nothing of it.

“I will not lie to you, my love. My body enjoyed the release, it _needed_ the release after the last few days. But my mind, my heart,-” He took her hand and placed it on her chest, pressed it so she could hear its familiar rhythm, all the while speaking softly in her ear. “- they thought only of you.”

“They better.”

It made him laugh, and she smiled as she heard it. He kissed her forehead and she pushed him away.

“Now let me go. You smell like her, and I hate it.”

She fell back on her feet and watched him closely. If he had looked handsome at the beginning of the night, he looked like a God, now. His hair was unruly, his shirt was half-buttoned and his sleeves were rolled up on his arms; he looked like a man that got exactly what he wanted and who exuded confidence. He was grinning at her, both forgetting how mad they were just a second ago, and she was staring in disbelief at the man that was standing so close to her. _What would my parents say now ?_ _I'm half-naked in a room with a man I barely know, and I will lead him into my bed for one more night_. She smiled, softly. _They would have died from shock, had they not been so dead already._

Oberyn kissed her forehead again, speaking softly against her skin. “You shouldn't have approached Joffrey like that, little wolf.”

Alayne was starting to protest, but Oberyn shook his head and continued on.

“Listen to me, you little devil child. You put yourself on his radar before you were ready. Before _we_ were ready.”

“What do you mean ?”

“Do you know how to fight, dearest one ? How to fire a gun ?”

She frowned, repulsed by the idea. “No.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you should ? Throats don't slash open that easy.”

“Where are you going with this, Oberyn ?”

“ _We_ are going all the way to Dorne, my love. I'm going to train you.”

“You're taking me to Dorne ?”

Alayne could not believe it, and Oberyn simply smiled at her bewilderment.

“Two weeks. The beach. The sun. The fresh air. Lessons on how to kill.

**What more could you ask for ?** ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. That Alayne, what a whiny bitch.   
> I'm kidding, sort of.   
> Anyways, I hope you liked it, and if you didn't, please feel free to tell me why !  
> Feedback is always appreciated. See you for chapter five !  
> xx


	5. Ammunition

She had a lot of trouble sleeping, that night, not for fear that Joffrey knew her name, now, nor because she was worried for and about Tyrion, that things were so inescapably damaged between them, no; she was simply restless and excited.

Oberyn had left a few minutes after he had told her he was taking to Dorne, after they had agreed that he would come and pick her up in the morning, and after she had jumped on him and kissed him everywhere, making them both laugh. He left after kissing her forehead and wishing her goodnight, and Alayne had tried, very hard, not to start squealing and jumping up and down. She had immediately dug out a suitcase and started throwing clothes in it, not even taking five minutes to ask herself if she would need to so many things – knowing Oberyn as she was starting to, she probably would end up half naked most of time, either in a bikini or in his bed – considering she was going there to learn how to fight, not star in a fashion show. She closed it once – with great difficulty – and opened it back up five minutes later to throw everything away.

She felt like a kid at Christmas, her heart full of hope and a smile on her lips, as she did and undid her suitcase a few more times. It was near five o'clock in the morning when she decided that she had packed what she needed, and that she would get the rest in Sunspear if she had forgotten anything. She went to bed after that, tossing and turning and picturing how the south would look like. She imagined a red hot sun and a clear blue sky, people from all over the world coming together to dance on the beach, and, most of all, she imagined herself walking in the streets free of any fear, with red in her hair and wings at her back, with a smile on her face and Oberyn at her side. She knew, deep down, that she was worlds away from the truth, picturing all of this, but she didn't care; she fell asleep with the sun burning her skin and she felt good.

Amid her dreams of freedom, Alayne felt a kiss, planted on her shoulder blade, then another, and then a waterfall full of them, light as a feather. She heard the rumbling of the wind ask her to wake up, and felt the sun crawl up her stomach. She giggled and moaned.

“Five more minutes.”

There was a short laugh behind her.

“I thought you were happy to go to Dorne.”

She turned around, eyes closed still, and hid in Oberyn's arms. He laughed again, starting to pet her hair. They stayed quiet for a minute, peaceful, and Alayne finally opened her eyes. She saw him, relaxed and half asleep himself, and smiled. She gently pushed him on the mattress, flat on his back, and she straddled him. He let out a shriek of joy at Alayne's boldness, and grinned from ear to ear as she started to kiss his jaw, then down his neck. She then sat up and gazed down at him with glee in her eyes.

“You're taking me away from all of this.”

“Hmm-hmm.” His hands were on her thighs, caressing them even when unmoving. She felt all the flaws of them against her soft skin, the callouses and the scars, and she felt the power and danger they wielded every day. It aroused her, the touch, and that feeling, knowing that the man between her thighs was a strong, wicked man who had it all and who wanted her. Two of his fingers, one on each hand, had found there way to her underwear and were now toying with its sides, wrapping the fabric against them.

“And what are you going to do once you got me all alone ?”

“I have a few ideas. Some are even coming to me now.”

Alayne giggled. “I didn't know I was such a muse to you.”

In one swift motion, Oberyn grabbed her waist to hold her still, and he sat up, his chest almost crushing into hers, stealing the wind out of her.

“You are so much more than that.” He kissed her nose, her chin, her cheeks, avoiding purposefully the one place where she wanted to be kissed. She groaned in dissatisfaction and was rewarded with a shiver. “You are the one person who's got me on my knees.”

She stared at him, bewildered, holding onto him for support. She didn't know what to answer to that, but her cheeks went scarlet and a smile spread on her lips. He did not seem at all embarrassed or awkward, and was happy to just stare back and let silence reign. And Alayne, who had felt so bold before, felt shy and inelegant. She wanted to run and hide, but he was holding her so tight and she felt so good next to him. In the end, she chose to join her forehead to his, closing her eyes, letting herself be held and making him smile.

“What is going to become of us, Oberyn, once all of this is over ?”

“That, my wolf, is up to you.”

She moved back a little to look at him, frowning slightly.

“What do you mean ?”

“I cannot choose your path for you. I am no fool, I know you long for the North and for summer snows; but if you believe that you no longer belong to the cold and the ice, I can show you worlds you have never dreamed of.”

Alayne heard the words that did not come out of his mouth, the unspoken fact that he would not go with her if she chose to go home. She could follow him, but he would not follow her. She deliberately chose not to focus on that at the moment, seeing as they were too far from their goal to even talk about it seriously.

“Take me away to your magical kingdom, then.”

He chuckled, then looked down at her current apparel, tugged at the old shirt she used as pj's. She rolled her eyes, waited until he loosened his grip, then walked away to her closet to find something appropriate to wear to the airport. When she came back, her suitcase had disappeared, and Oberyn was waiting at the door, toying with his phone, composed and quiet. He smiled at her when she emerged, offering her his arm.

 

 

                As their commercial plane landed in Sunspear, however, Oberyn told her they would not stay in the family home.

“I want you all to myself.” he stated, making Alayne want to giggle and felt her cheeks redden. “Besides,” he added, “it makes hiding the bruises I will give you much easier.”

“You know,” Alayne retorted, “sometimes I think you might be the most adorable man, and then you say something like that.”

Oberyn laughed, and Alayne only smiled, taking in the new sights, the smell, the feeling of it all. The air conditioning was turned on at full force, which gave her chills, and Oberyn already lead her to another plane.

“I have some private property” he said, with a hint of pride in his voice, “that I sure you will love as much as I do.”

 

                    “This isn't private property, Oberyn. This is an island.”

Alayne was standing on the landing strip, having just descended from the private jet that took them to Oberyn's home, dazzled by the sights and the colors, in awe with the magic of the place.

“You have a whole island that belongs to you.”

Oberyn was laughing behind her, having slid his arms around her waist. He laughed on her skin, kissing her jaw, but Alayne was too stunned to notice. She, a daughter of a Northerner who abhorred the unnecessary and the ostentatious, was standing in the middle of the most luxurious place she had ever seen. She could see the house from there, but also a forest, a swimming pool, gardens in abundance; and the colors jumped in her eyes, shinier than they had ever been before, more colorful, too – and the smells ! There was an overload of sensations and Alayne wanted to feel it all, even under the hottest sun she had ever felt on her skin. Oberyn let her marvel at the beauty of his island, but soon grabbed her by the hand to get her inside.

“You have such a lovely ivory skin. It would be a shame to burn it on your first day, wouldn't it ?”

The inside of the large, two floors house was cosier than Alayne had expected it to be, full of light and filled with memories, as per the photos and trinkets scattered around each room Oberyn showed her. She could tell the house was important to him, as he had stars in his eyes as he walked her through it, and she could easily see why : the pictures were almost all of the same woman and the same children, at various times of their lives, sometimes alone, sometimes with family. It wasn't hard for her to deduce that the woman was the infamous Elia Oberyn had loved so much and whom he so desperately wanted to avenge. His sister, and his nephew and niece, all in the pictures, Elia smiling and her babies in her arms. Instead of the luxurious villa she had thought would match the wealth of the island, she had entered a house that resembled her former one, a place for life to enfold itself, and for descendants to watch it enfold again on the walls. Sadness welled up inside of her as she picked up a photo of Oberyn and Elia, smiling widely, her in bed with an infant, and him seated next to her with an older baby. It exuded life and yet all of them were now dead, except for one.

“Elia was not very happy, in her marriage.”

Oberyn had once again crept up behind her and rested his palms on her hips. He spoke softly in her ear, and Alayne leaned back into him.

“She was quite in love with her husband, but something was wrong, and she wouldn't tell me. So I bought her this place, as a solace and a hideaway, and hoped that she would make me a permanent guest.”

He took the photo from her and caressed it with one thumb.

“She loved the place, and took the children here whenever she could. She was quite sickly, and she did not come here as often as we would have liked.” He took a deep breath. “She adored the house so much she even named it.”

“What did she call it ?”

“She called it home.”

There was a small silence that Oberyn soon broke, clearing his throat, putting the picture down and urging Alayne on. “Come on, little wolf. There are still rooms I have not shown you yet.”

He showed her the entirety of the house, basement to attic, telling her stories about his family and explaining the purpose of each room they walked through. Each of them was beautiful in its own style, neat or messy, large or small, work or play. Alayne had been quite frightened when he had shown her the room where he worked out, though : an immense gallery that took up most of the basement, filled with diverse sporting equipment such as a ring, punching bags, treadmills, weights, and even a pan of wall used as a gun range.

“Are you trying to intimidate me ? Because it's definitely working.”

Oberyn had laughed and kissed the hand he had not once let go throughout the entire visit.

“Get used to it, my wolf. This is where you and I are going to spend most of our time.”

“Oh.” Alayne swallowed, and tried to defuse her unease. “Here I was thinking you were taking me on vacation.”

“Think of it more as a work retreat.” Oberyn chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “But don't worry, I will give you plenty of chances to play, too. Hungry ?”

“Famished.”

 

                     After a light dinner – tomatoes so ripe they burst into her mouth, and red berries with spices for dessert - in the early evening, Oberyn retired to make a few phone calls, leaving Alayne free to do whatever she wanted. She wandered in the gardens for a while, taking in the quiet and the stillness of the island. After three years in the big city, this calm almost felt like a return to her roots, the abundance of fresh, free air making her dizzy with bliss. She smiled to herself as she walked, taking off her shoes to walk in the grass, then she let herself fall to the soft ground, in the shade of an old tree, and closed her eyes. She was completely relaxed, enjoying those few precious moments of peace where she could think of nothing but about how good she felt at that point in time, letting the now bearable warmth wash over her like a wave, shaking her to her core, leaving her brand new. She heard calls in the distance, but was too lazy to answer them, and simply let herself be rocked by the chirping of unknown birds and by the sound of the sea falling over rocks somewhere below, unable to stop smiling. It didn't occur to her that it was Oberyn calling, that he was looking for her; if she simply laid here, completely still, maybe the ground would swallow her whole and she'd live out the rest of her life in peace and quiet, never worrying, never fearing anything. That was quite the idea, she thought.

She was disturbed, however, by the soft sound of someone sitting next to her.

“Here you are, little wolf. Didn't you hear me calling ?”

“I did, actually. I was too busy contemplating eternity to answer.”

Oberyn laughed, Alayne following quickly after, laughing until her stomach hurt for no reason at all; and he lay next to her, staring until she opened her eyes and looked back at him. He had an elbow planted in the ground, and his fingertips drew circles on her stomach, staring into her eyes with a tender expression on his face that took Alayne completely by surprise.

“How are you feeling, my love ?” he inquired.

“I was wondering if I was dead, and if this was heaven.”

He chuckled, but made no other attempt at conversation, content to simply lie on the warm grass with her close enough to touch, and she, on the other hand, had nothing else to say yet. She extended her arm to touch his face, stroking his cheek sweetly, tracing his lips with her thumb. Alayne had never felt more attracted to him than at this very moment. Back at King's Landing, they had used their bodies to communicate, as barriers against the outside world, but here, she was discovering an altogether different man. He had taken her to his sister's home, a safe haven he had bought her when he still believed he would have the rest of his life to share it with her, where they had made memories in abundance in the short time they had had. He was showing her his soul and she wondered what she could have done to deserve this, wondered if this was his way of showing her that he trusted her with his most precious memories. She felt incredibly humbled by it, and didn't know what she could do to repay him in kind, to show just how much she had come to rely on him, too. She wanted to give him the world, but she had nothing more to give than had already been taken from her.

She scooted closer to him and watched the lights dance in his eyes.

“Kiss me.” she whispered.

He looked at her for a long second, during which neither of them moved, everything around them silent and still, before leaning in to give her what she wanted. It was chaste, and slow, and lazy; but they moved into each other, as if physically pulled to one another, and settled into an idle rhythm that made Alayne's heart weep with joy. They both lay on their sides, Oberyn's hand on her back and Alayne's grabbing his shirt, crumpling it between her fingers, intertwining their legs together. She saw stars and moons and everything was the colour of his kiss, a dark olive painted on her skin and a pale ivory dripping on his; and Alayne lost all concept of time in his embrace. When he moved away to breathe, she would moan softly until he kissed her again; and everything, the fear, the warmth, the world altogether, was forgotten.

He pulled away from her quietly, and murmured :

“It's going to rain.”

Alayne chuckled softly. “How do you know ?”

“I'm magic.” he smirked, and she hit his stomach playfully in response. “And also, I can feel it falling on me.”

“I can't believe you took me to the deep South, and on the day I get there, it starts to rain.”

Oberyn laughed, kissed her nose and got up, holding out his hand for her to do the same.

“We needed the rain, little wolf, and you kindly brought it to us.”

“I'm sure 'we' will find a way to repay me.” Alayne slyly grinned, following Oberyn back into the house. Raindrops fell all around them, slowly at first, but quite hard by the time they reached the outer patio. This rain felt different to Alayne, but she could not put her finger on as to why this was. Rain was not something she was unused to; northern drizzles were commonplace, and ever King's Landing had its showers every once in a while, not that she'd made a habit of standing under it. Oberyn was rushing her in, but she broke his hold over her once she realized exactly what it was that had made her tick.

“Oberyn-”, she started, and smiled as she watched him turn around, puzzled and hesitant. “It's warm. The rain. It's warm !”

She was amazed, having never experienced such a thing, and Oberyn grinned at her bewilderment. He took a step closer to her, and they were both standing under the water; looking at each other, smiling and laughing.

“You've never - ?”

She shook her head in response, the water wetting both their clothes, attacking their skin. She liked the feeling, as if somehow it was embracing her, this rain and its heat, leaving her with a glow in her belly.

“I think we've found a way to repay you, then.” Oberyn chuckled, grabbing her by the hips and heaving her up on to him. “Now let's get inside before you get sick.”

“Ha! I'm a Northerner. I don't get sick.” She stated, pride filling her speech.

“And we Southerners don't take no for an answer.”

 

                                “You're full of it.”

After discovering that Alayne was wet to the bone, Oberyn had insisted she take a hot bath to get warm. Naturally, she insisted that he join her, and they were now in his bathtub, Oberyn rubbing her shoulders gently, telling her stories of his youth, neither of them caring about the water falling on the floor every time they moved.

“I swear to you, they are still buried Gods know where.”

He was claiming that, when they were both still teenagers and Oberyn was jealous of the attention Doran was getting from their father, he would rob his brother of his belongings. It had started out with small, inconsequential objects, but the more time passed, the bolder he grew; he ended up taking birthday gifts, expensive pens and books for college, and he was now in the midst of telling her how he had stolen the keys to a very important car – the prize of their father's collection – after Doran had borrowed it to impress a very important client of the family company, and had hidden them somewhere he still didn't remember.

“Your father must have been mad.”

“Livid.” answered Oberyn. “I don't recall him ever being angrier, and he was hot-blooded man – he was angry all the time. But Doran took all the blame, and I was all but forgotten.”

He chuckled, and watched with interest as Alayne turned to face him, legs apart to encircle him, hands joining at his nape.

“I'm betting you were furious with your brother.” she stated, a small, proud smile on her lips. “You know, what with you being hot-blooded, too.”

“It scared me how much I was. It never really left me, since.”

“The anger, or the fear ?”

She was caressing his nape slowly, and he didn't move an inch under her.

“Both.”

His voice was low, just above a whisper, and Alayne could almost hear his heartbeat accelerating, echoing hers, and he was staring, first at her lips, then back into her eyes, with a thick, callous look that made her shiver.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, little wolf ?”

“What is ?”, she responded, almost out of breath at the touch of his hands circling her waist.

“You, sitting on my lap, naked as the day you were born.”

“I thought it was a tremendous idea.”

“Are you trying to seduce me ?”

“Here I was thinking I already had.”

She kissed his nose, their stomachs and chest collapsing into each other, stirring something deep inside her belly. She felt his fingers close on her skin, scratching her and making her yelp, and he shivered.

“You are going to drive me insane.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Oberyn chuckled, the sound low and rough, betraying how he felt, echoing her desire. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, and could end up getting much more than what she had bargained for, more than she could handle; but watching his eyes turn to burning coals was mesmerizing to watch, feel his body respond to her touch and shift under her weight was wonderful to experience, and she couldn't help it, but she loved the way she could turn him on with the smallest of movements. Alayne was starting to realize she could have power over him, especially after what he had told her this morning, and she felt that their footing were now more equal than before, now that she knew that he, too, was affected by their relationship. She could see it now, see why so many women believed sex to be the ultimate weapon, see why a brothel, of all places, was the home of so many shifts in the game of politics. People manipulated other people with sex, and Oberyn was showing her how.

“Do you believe yourself to be insane, then ?”

Alayne nodded, quivering as she felt his hands descend to her hips, taking their time and watching her reaction closely, under half-closed lids.

“I must be,” she breathed, her whole body desperate to respond. “otherwise I wouldn't want this as much as I do.”

“This ?”

“This revenge that we hold dear. This blood on my hands. This man, between my thighs.”

“Then we are both beyond mad.”

They smiled at each other, their grimaces anything but joyful and sweet; they were markings of belonging, of affinity and connection. They didn't even meet the other's gaze, Alayne's head tilted backwards as she had arched her back, looking at nothing in particular, and Oberyn was staring at her, the whole of her, looking at every detail of her. Neither of them moved until Alayne looked back down into his eyes, and he lurched forward to plant a violent, hungry kiss on her lips, and she had to hold onto the bathtub with both hands not to fall downwards. He crushed into her, not quite hurting her, but changing the whole dynamic. She followed his lead, biting his lip, a low growl pouring out of her as she felt his avid touch on her, knowing this was his revenge for teasing him. She didn't mind – couldn't mind, really-, however, she knew she had her own greed, knew she needed this more than was good for her. Her heartbeat pulsated through her entire body, making it the only sound in her ears, happy to let him prove his dominance on her, for now at least. She held onto the marble, hurting her palms, but she didn't care one bit : Oberyn's hands were on the small of her back, pulling her towards him, and she could feel everything.

He moved away from her lips to kiss her chin, her jaw, her neck; he nibbled and pecked at it until she moaned, the sound awaking something inside of him, and he groaned.

“Is this want you want, little wolf ?”

His voice sent electricity down her spine, and she her answer almost got lost in her breath.

“Yes.”

“Do you care what I want ?”

“No.”

Her simple answer made him laugh, and she giggled in response, the sound turning to a moan of pain when he softly bit into her flesh.

“Selfish girl.”

It felt like he wanted to admonish her, but he said it with a proud smile on his lips, and Alayne melted in his embrace.

“What do you want, then ?”, she softly inquired when he backed away to stare at her. _Mine_ , his amused look said. _Mine, mine, mine_.

“I thought you didn't care.”

He said it slow, and emphatically, and his hands were making bruises on her hips, but she didn't want it to ever end.

“You stopped kissing me.” she whimpered, and he laughed.

“I have your attention, then. Good.”

“You always have my attention.”

Oberyn smirked, kissing her again on the base of her neck to her chin, and she tilted her head back, shivering uncontrollably when he whispered on her skin.

“I cannot do this, with you. It would not be good, not until you are free to be mine, completely and irreversibly, and I yours.”

“I thought we were.”

“Not until we are done with our plan, my love.”

Alayne opened her mouth to answer, but Oberyn stopped her.

“No more words. If I listen to you, I will end up fucking you until dawn. And it would not do well to be sore for your first day of training.”

She sighed, resigned. “Fucking until dawn seems really nice, though.”

He laughed on her skin. “How would you know, my wolf ?”

“It would be, with you.” _There. That will shut him right up_ , she thought. And it did.

 

 

                            Alayne woke up the next morning as she felt Oberyn stir beside her. She moaned and hugged him tighter, her arms around his stomach and her lips on his back. He was chuckling softly, clearly trying to turn around and face her, but she hid against him, unwilling to move. He gently took her arms and opened them to give himself some room to move, and Alayne meekly protested.

“Where are you going ?”

Her voice was barely audible and barely understandable, still thick with sleep. Oberyn turned around and kissed her forehead before getting up, yawning and stretching. “Bathroom.”, he stated, “And breakfast in ten.”

He was still naked from yesterday, and Alayne couldn't resist opening her eyes and taking a peek, whether he could see or not. He was a God, sent to this earth to save her by whatever power there was in the Universe, and, in addition to all the saving, he was making her bold, and fierce, and unapologetic. And, after this short stay in Heaven, he'd have made a warrior out of her. She was grateful, she really was; but all she wanted now was peace, and for him to make a woman out of her. She sensed his smirk as he caught her looking, but it didn't stop her. She tracing the lines of his muscles with her eyes, desperately wishing he would come back to bed.

“Now, don't look at me like that, little wolf.”

“Like what ?” She tried to feign innocence and virtuosity, but Oberyn could see straight through her.

“Like you want to devour me whole.”

The way he looked at her made her insides quiver, as if he was watching a prey he was preparing to ensnare.

“Well, you do look delicious.”

She smiled slyly, raising an eyebrow and biting her lip. She was sure she heard Oberyn's breath shake and saw his stomach tighten before he could answer.

“And here I thought you were a good girl.”

“I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.”

He laughed happily and with his whole body as he made his way to the bathroom. “Five minutes.”, he said, before closing the door. Alayne sighed and felt her body relax. One of these days, she thought, my mouth will write a check my body just can't cash. But it was no use thinking about it now, so she simply got up and dressed.

 

                             She was sore, and aching, and sweaty, but Oberyn couldn't stop smiling at her like she had just won the goddamn Olympics. She held her ribs, breathing hard, closing her eyes.

“Gods, I hate you you so much.”

“No, you don't.”, he chuckled, apparently in excellent humour.

“How would you know ?”

She groaned and bent backwards, hopelessly trying to catch her breath, taking a few steps, grabbing the bottle of water he held to her.

They had been spending the first day of Alayne's training with self defense and the basics of krav maga, Oberyn getting more and more intense as the day wore on, pushing Alayne to her limits, and, even though she had tried keeping up and not letting him down, but she already had bruises on her arms and her head, her back, her calves were hurting like crazy. She wasn't about to give up, however, not in this lifetime. If anything, she would show Oberyn resilience, fuelling herself with the fire that burned in her stomach whenever she thought about Joffrey. She kicked and grabbed and pushed and pulled, occasionally shouting in frustration, but mostly kept quiet throughout the day. The only words said since they had started came from Oberyn's mouth as he constantly reminded her of what had been done to her family, all down to the gory details she had once mentioned and now seemed stuck in his mind, and hints at what Joffrey had done to her once he had had his claws on her, and what she would do to him when she would have the chance. He shouted at her continually, and it made her want to punch him harder, which she figured was the point. But now, now she was exhausted, and she wanted to cry. She gulped down the water that had been offered to her, trying to make sense of everything that was going on inside her head, trying to make silence spring out from under all the noise.

“How are you feeling ?”

“How am I feeling ?”, she repeated, appalled that he would ask, looking back at him, eyebrows raised. “I wish I was dead, is how I'm feeling.”

He laughed again, and Alayne just wanted to kick him in the shin, just as she would have kicked Robb when she was little.

“Let's go get you some advil, get some food in your stomach, get you in the hot tub and I promise you'll feel better.”

He heaved her up on his waist and she latched on to him like a child, hiding her face in his neck.

“I want to kill you, and, also, I want to make out with you. And I want you to hug me because I'm really not feeling good.”, she muttered.

“In that order, my wolf ?”

“I don't care.”

“Well,” he joked, putting her down on the kitchen counter, “if you don't mind, let's leave the killing part for later. I want to be there when you kill that little prick.”

She groaned, taking off her shoes, taking the pills Oberyn handed her. “I smell like a dying rat.”

He roared with laughter, one hand on his chest, making Alayne smile as he reached down to kiss her forehead.

“Is this going to be like this every day ?”

“Oh yes, I am afraid so. Waking up naked with you checking me out, then literally hitting on each other, then food and relaxation, maybe a make out session if I am lucky.”

“And in two weeks, I'll be ready ?”

She looked up at him, grabbing him by the shirt to keep him close. He smelt like sweat, just like she did, but she couldn't care less, she wanted him close, reassuring her. He smiled, his stare feeling hot on her skin, and whispered to her.

“In two weeks, my wolf, **you'll be unstoppable.** **Mark my words.** ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Oberyn's house, huh ? I figured it was time we saw more of him outside Sansa/Alayne.  
> As always, thanks for reading ! Please give me some feedback as to what you like / don't like / would like to see :)


	6. Perdition

The next twelve days Alayne spent in Dorne passed as in a daze; Oberyn pushed her further and further everyday, expecting her and waiting for her to break in half and start crying, and Alayne pushing back harder than she would have ever thought possible, her resolve and her determination keeping her strong. She wanted it all to end, one way or another, exhausted by the heavy burden on revenge that she had been carrying for far too long; but she couldn't help it – when Oberyn was snoring softly next to her, his arm against her waist and her eyes lost in the darkness, she wondered. She wondered whether she could finish what she started, whether she could handle the stress and the violence of such a quest much longer, whether or not she actually wanted to kill, could kill, even, a man. Yes, she knew, she remembered, what Joffrey had done to her family, and she was not about to let that be forgotten or forgiven, but she wondered if she should not take other paths instead. She hoped that she could take her revenge, hoped that she could make Oberyn proud, make her family find peace, but she knew that it was a long way from hope to realization.

She turned around to face the man sleeping next to her, staring at the shadows on his face, trying not to start crying. What would happen if she were to not be able to fight back ? To kill Joffrey ? What would he do ? Would he forgive her and move on ? Would he abandon her to the lions and save himself ? She kissed his nose, softly, and Oberyn held her tighter against him. She closed her eyes and prayed, hard, to the Gods her Father taught her about, to the Gods her Mother loved, to the Gods that would listen. _Give me strength. Give me the courage to do what is necessary. Give me the will to see blood, to shed blood. Give me the power to kill._

They had talked about what they would do to the Lannister family once they had them, patriach to grandson, and they had come up with careful plans for Cersei, Tywin and Joffrey. There were others, too, that needed to be punished for their crimes, but Oberyn was already taking care of it, and he told her to focus on the lion cub, her primary target. She found those plans to be fitting, especially in regards to Joffrey, and he certainly deserved every last bit of what they were going to do to him. Still, in the dark of the night, when no light but the moon shone in that bedroom, she had doubts that she could not shake off. She had no time to think about those during the day since the Red Viper kept her extremely busy, and there were so many things to be done. They knew that no Lannister would ever get in a physical fight with either of them, but she was glad to learn how to take care of herself all the same. Oberyn taught her how to wield a blade, no matter how small, so that she could do real damage, taught her how to use a gun if she ever needed to, he taught her self defense and where to hit a man to inflict a maximum amount of damage or pain.

She was grateful for all of it, of course she was, but she still wished she would never had had to learn or need any of it. She still wished for the comfort of her family and the safety of her home, but she knew that the man sharing her bed would never understand her desire for peace. He was born with bloodlust, born with anger, and this is what he lived for. She even sometimes – although she would never admit to it – wondered if there was a part of him, however small, that secretly rejoiced when Elia had been killed. So, instead of sharing her doubts, she simply let him teach her the rudiments of pain and let him kiss her endlessly at night, trying to hide bruises under lips and soften blows under caresses.

 

Alayne came back to King's Landing sore and aching, from head to toes, tired and raw, wishing for some time and some distance. She needed to think about all of this, everything that was happening to her and that she couldn't control. Oberyn kissed her forehead goodnight, and left her in the flat she had not missed for one second, surrounded by people she could never trust, and feeling more alone than ever. She already missed it, missed the sun and he quiet, the grass under her feet and the evenings spent walking, hand in hand, or laying by the pool, laughing as Oberyn sprayed her with water, moaning as he kissed her neck.

She surprised herself when she felt the need to cry, though. She had the nagging feeling that, even though she could hold her own in that relationship, and even though the burning passion of the beginning had transformed into something that not only hurt, but consumed her whole body, she could feel – she could sense that Oberyn did not see past their revenge. He did not make plans for their escape afterwards, or their days afterwards, if indeed they still had days to share. This was his ultimate goal, this was the one thing that defined him, and he could not care about an after, because this was it, for him. This was what he had been born for, the takedown of one of the most powerful families in all the world. And it scared her.

It scared her to want to spend the rest of her days with a man whose entire soul cried out for blood, and it scared her to realize that she would never again be able to live without him. And, if there indeed was an after for them, she wondered if Oberyn thought about it, if it had registered in his mind. If he wanted to spend those days with her, if she was ever going to be enough. She sighed, and started to tidy up her apartment, her luggage, herself. Everything hurt when she moved, her whole body screaming with pain, but she knew that standing still just wasn't an option.

 

Life went back to its usual course after a few days spent in the darkness of her flat, thinking and wondering, watching too much bad tv, drinking much more than she ate. She went back to clients, appearing refreshed and happy, smiling and talking, charming them when they complained about her two and a half week disappearance, going as far as kissing in some cases, then taking long showers to wash them all away, tears invisible amid the water. She deliberately took a step back from Oberyn by taking on more appointments than usual, coming up with excuses and avoiding his calls. She still accepted him in her bed when he came – she simply couldn't refuse, couldn't not see him – and they still slept soundly in each other's arms, entwined like ivy.

Tyrion was the first person she had wanted to call when she came back, but fear of rejection kept her from doing so at first. He had answered when she had found the courage to do so, though; even if he hadn't sounded very pleased. With simple pleading, however, she had succeeded in making him agree to come over for dinner. It had taken some time, but she didn't mind; she knew she had to see him.

She was waiting for him now, having dressed up as he liked, made one of his favorite dinners from scratch – it had taken her mind off other things – and she was hoping they could lay everything on the table and be honest with each other. She didn't want to lose him, friends or not. She paced around the living room, twisting her hands, waiting for a knock on the door, barely making a sound to be sure she wouldn't miss it, staring at nothing in particular. All the things that she wanted to say ran restlessly around her mind, and she swore to herself that, if Tyrion had questions he wanted answers to, she would be as truthful as she could.

She glanced at the bottle of wine on the table, wishing she could open it while she waited, have a drink or two to calm down, but she very much did not want to be drunk when Tyrion would arrive, and willed herself to look away and wait. She took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes, mentally picturing herself in Winterfell, smiling to herself. The knock on the door broke her fantasy and made her jump, and she hesitated for a second before basically flying to the door.

“Hi.” she breathed, smiling a little too shyly for her taste, staring a the man waiting on the other side.

He only made a strangled sound in salutation, but she wasn't about to let that stop her. “Come in. Please.” she said, opening the door a little more to let him pass.

There was nothing but silence on his part for the next few minutes as she tried – and failed – to make conversation. In the end, she stopped blabbing and simply moved about the rooms, straightening a picture, checking the dishes in the oven, making sure everything was on the table, and he simply observed, a sad look in his eyes, as she moved. She finally stopped moving when the food was brought, and sat down on the floor in the exact place she always did when they ate together, avoiding his gaze, licking her lips. She was looking for something to say, and wished he would join her, but he was frozen over the table, unsure of what he should do. The next thing she knew, she had took his hand, making him jump and shiver, looking over at her with alarm and incomprehension, and she motioned for him to join her with her head and a small smile. He did not move, however, and his hand staying limp in hers, and so she gave up and served the wine and the vegetarian lasagna she had prepared. She played with the food on her plate to have something to do while Tyrion made up his mind, and she only turned to him once he had sat down next to her – a first, as usually he liked to sit opposite her, so as to see her better, he said -. She pushed a glass to him, and looked up at him.

“Tyrion ?”

He sighed, and met her eyes.

“Truce ?”

Her voice was soft, and quiet, and shaky. He said nothing, did nothing, and kept on staring sadly at her. There was something in his gaze that made Alayne want to cry, and look away in shame.

“I know that I haven't been … easy. I'm sorry.”

He scoffed, faintly, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, and, for some reason, it sparked anger in Alayne's soul.

“This is new, for me. I don't know how to behave – I don't know what I did. I'm trying to fix it, okay ?”

“But you can't fix it, Alayne.”

Those were the first words that he had said to her that night, and he said them with steel in his voice and steel in his eyes, as if armed for battle.

“Why not ?” Her hands were shaking around her fork, and she let it go before she would drop it.

“It doesn't work that way.”

“Then how does it work ?” she inquired, her voice rising a little. “Tell me how I can make it better.”

“You can't. So stop trying.”

Silence settled between them after that, and Alayne battled her tears, determined not to let him see how hurt she was.

“I miss my friend.”

It was all she said – all that she could say – that still made sense in her mind. She missed her appointments with Tyrion that always made her forget everything else around her, forget about his family and its threats, and she missed knowing that, if everything else were to turn to dust, she still had him to look forward to.

“I can't be your friend any more, Alayne.”

“Why not ?” The question jumped out of her mouth with thinking, and Tyrion turned to her, staring into her eyes, the answer written plainly on his face.

“Because you like me.” she whispered to no one but herself, the words strangled and rough.

“Because I love you.”

The statement rang clear and true, and Alayne closed her eyes to block it from penetrating her skin. _No._ Her heart beat faster, unevenly, and she fought the implications of such a declaration.

“You don't even know me.”

Her defense was weak, and Tyrion pierced through it in a second, shaking his head.

“So you keep saying. But it is not true, and you know it.”

She was about to protest when he talked over her unsaid words.

“I know you sleep with a silver knife under your pillow. I know that you like your food to be extra salty, but, as much as you ask, you never find it to be salty enough, so you always put more; I know you hate fizzy drinks because they make you hiccup, _every single time_ , and I know you secretly prefer hot chocolate with cinnamon over coffee – of which you drink too much, by the way. I know you have ambition, but don't know what to do with it, or with yourself; and I know you to be clever, even though you view yourself as bordering on stupid and naive. I know you love cheese, and that, when you're hungry in the middle of the night, you will make yourself grilled cheese or bread with feta cheese and olive oil. I know that you love the colors white and gray, but you hide it under layers of red and gold, why, I'm not sure. And I know that you see something in me, even if I don't, and I know that you would defend me with your life if you had to. You just hide it behind coolness, and I know that you are an arsehole sometimes. And that's okay, I'm an arsehole, too. We are not perfect, but you can't say that I don't know you because I do. I know everything there is to know about you.”

Alayne was in shock, and her mouth answered on automatic. “That's not true.”

Even she could tell, though, that she sounded everything short of convincing, and Tyrion, once again, had not trouble dismantling the weak argument.

“Fine, then. I know everything _worthwhile_ there is to know about you.”

“You don't know about where I came from. Why I am here.”

“Is it that important ?”

“Yes !”, she exclaimed, desperate. Tyrion turned to her, grabbed her hand softly, and stroked it with his thumb.

“Then tell me.”

Alayne closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, then gulped down her first drink of the night.

“You're going to wish you never asked.” she stated so softly that it took a moment for Tyrion to be sure of what she had said. He only sat closer, holding her hand against his, and nodded. She sighed, and stared at the floor.

“I will tell you what I can. And, once I have finished, you may never ask me about it again.”

“I promise.”

Alayne settled a little straighter, still looking anywhere but at him, and launched herself into the abridged version of what had happened to her.

“My parents-”, she started, and her voice broke for a second. She cleared her throat and tried again. “My parents, my family, they're dead. An horrible accident I wasn't supposed to survive, but I did. I was still a child, I didn't understand why, but only I remained.”

She swallowed, hard, and Tyrion urged her on with a touch on her wrist.

“There was a man, he took me in. Gods, I used to love him.” A small, strangled laugh blurted out of her. “I was so stupid at the time, but he opened my eyes. I spent three weeks with him, before I was able to run away.”

She heard Tyrion take a sharp breath in shock as she spoke.

“He kept me locked into a closet, and, the only times I went out were when – when he wanted to show me.”

“Show you ?” His voice trembled.

“What he was going to do to me.” She took a pause to allow herself some time to breathe, but she was on the verge of tears when she started again. “He had another girl, a redhead, like-” she bit her lip to stop herself, and frowned. “- he would torture her and he had men rape her, and he forced me to watch. He forced me to _listen_.”

Alayne took her hand back from his and crossed her arms on her chest. “Anyways, I managed to escape, but I still have the memories and the scars.”

“Alayne, I-”

“Don't. Don't say you're sorry.”

“Why not ? I mean it.”

Alayne's chuckle was nothing but sad and bitter. “ _Don't._ You could have -”

“Could have what ?” She noticed his frown.

“Just stop. Let it go.”

“Is that what you're doing ? Letting it go ?”

“I'm trying to survive ! To make it through the night ! So stop it, stop saying that you know me, because what you see, what you know, is only what I want to show. No more.”

“Then show me.” Tyrion took both her hands and held them tight in his. “Show me the fear, and the doubt, and the sadness, and I will hold your hands as I am doing right now, and I will not let go until you have reached the other end of the tunnel. You don't have to do this alone, Alayne.”

She looked at him for the first time since she had started talking, and found him shaken, but hopeful. She wished she could feel the same, but things would never be that easy for her; she had lived through too much for him to think that just holding her hands and whispering encouragements would do the trick. She was tired, and she didn't want to speak of it any longer. She pulled her hands back and shook her head, standing up and clearing the table in total silence.

Tyrion simply watched her, his eyes filled with sorrow and his heart heavy, and he regretted having pushed her to talk. The truth had changed everything, and he could not un-see it, any of it, all of it. _I should have left it alone_. It was too late now, and he needed to live with his choice, as he had lived with any of his previous ones.

Alayne didn't seem to want to talk when she sat back down next to him, but she took his hand and held it with hers, closing her eyes. For her sake, and for his, he steered the conversation away from anything that might have to do with her past. It was awkward, and they fumbled about for a while, but they soon fell back to their old patterns, joking at each other's expense, bantering about, and Alayne even managed to laugh by the end of the night. They talked and talked until the sun started to rise, and Alayne felt a little better, a little lighter. She still could see that there was something Tyrion wanted to ask, that he might have been satisfied with one answer, but the second was just as important in his eyes. It was obvious, though, that he wouldn't dare to ask, and so she nudged him gently with her elbow.

“There's something else on your mind, isn't there ?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

She waited a few moments for him to come out and say it, but words didn't seem to be able to leave his mouth, no matter how much she waited. She nudged him again, smiling softly, and decided to take a shot in the dark.

“I liked it.”, she breathed, avoiding his gaze and playing with the rug under their feet. She sensed him turning sharply to her, eyes the size of saucers, unsure and in disbelief.

“Do you mean – ?”

Alayne looked back at him and saw that his cheeks had reddened a little, but he still couldn't form the question properly.

“Man of words.”, she japed, grinning. “And yet you lose all of them when I'm around. What does that say about me ?”

“I'm embarrassed.”

“Why ?”, she frowned.

“I shouldn't have kissed you. I was a drunken fool.”

“No, you shouldn't have, and yes, you were.” Alayne laughed a little. “But it still happened, and I will say it again : I liked it.”

“You did ?”

“The first one was – really nice. Really, really nice. Not so much the second, though.”

Tyrion took a deep breath and took his hand back from her to sit up straight and face her completely.

“I'm sorry.”

“Thank you. But, as I said, the first one – yummy.”

She chuckled, and leaned a little forward, waiting to see if Tyrion would close the distance and lean towards her as well. It took him a while to understand what she wanted him to do, but in the end decided to follow her unspoken demand, stood up and moved to meet her. Their lips met softly, Tyrion's breath smelling of lime and wine, and Alayne slid the palm of her hand on his nape.

After the urgency and fire in Oberyn's embraces, this kiss felt like salve and redemption, and the sweetness of it took Alayne's breath away. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment, shivering as Tyrion's hands glided through her hair. He radiated warmth, so close to her, but she knew that she wouldn't get burned, no matter how close she would get. She smiled on his lips as he moved away, catching himself before things got too intense.

“Okay ?” he inquired, and was met by a grin and a nod.

“Again.” she demanded, and he chuckled as he obeyed.

They kissed, slowly, their embraces undemanding, neither moving nor still, and Alayne had a warm glow on her heart, cool enough to not burn, and hot enough to keep her wanting more. His hands were lodged in her hair, pulling at them softly, and they were so close that she could almost feel his chest moving to the rhythm of his heartbeat, vibrating through his kiss. She felt safe, and loved, and accepted, and there was an unspoken promise in their caress, the promise of a stable and peaceful future with a man that loved her, even in her shortcomings, even in her selfish ways, loved her even though he could gain nothing from her. It made her shiver, it made her smile; and she knew that nothing could ever be the same between them after that. She pulled away, ever so softly, and stared into his eyes. He looked sated, and blissful, but a dark thought passed through her mind.

 _There is one more secret I need to tell_ , she thought, _and it's now or never._

“Tyrion ?” she hesitated.

He had picked up on her change of mood, and was frowning as he was waiting for her to say more. She swallowed, hard, and opened her mouth to finally be free of lies.

“My name is not Alayne. Not really.”

Tyrion reflected on that for a moment, then started to formulate a question when a formidable bang was heard on the door. It made them both jump, and Alayne was once again filled with the dread and terror that used to characterize her. She quickly stood up and practically flew to her bed to retrieve her small knife, a poor weapon to use on armed men looking for a fight, but holding it gave her strength and courage as she forced herself to remember Oberyn's training. She hadn't planned on using it so early, but she was ready to act if she had no other choice. She approached the door slowly as Tyrion, too, stood up and frowned, waiting to see what would happen. He called out her name, trying to get her to hide, but she was still walking, listening, quite hard, for any indication of who might be banging on her door. She heard coughing and a small wheezing sound, and then came a familiar groan.

“Oh my God.”

The knife fell on the floor as she jumped to the door and opened it wide. On the other side of it was an ashen faced Oberyn, holding his side as it bled through his fingers and onto his shirt, leaning on the door frame as straight as he could.

“Hey, little wolf.”

His voice was so small that Alayne wasn't sure she hadn't dreamed it, and her heart sank into her stomach. She grabbed his arm and coiled it over her shoulder as he groaned in pain, and called out for Tyrion's help. She half walked, half dragged him to the living room where Tyrion quickly assessed the situation, looking from her to her viper, not knowing what to do.

“What the Hell - ?”

He sounded shocked, but Alayne didn't have time to explain. She turned to him once she had gotten Oberyn on the couch and started to give orders.

“Go close the door, please.”

He hesitated for a second as she moved her attention back to Oberyn, sizing up the damage and what she would have to do to stabilize him. Once she saw that Tyrion still hadn't moved, she shouted.

“Tyrion, now !”

He almost jumped at her imperious tone, but did as he was asked.

“Thank you. Now go to the bathroom, under the sink, hidden behind, there is a box. Bring it to me.”

She would have to cut the shirt to get access to the wound, she theorized, but there would be bleeding, and besides, she wasn't sure exactly what to do. It was decided, though, when Tyrion came back with her tin box, that Oberyn needed to get something for the pain that was yet to come. She looked toward Tyrion, motioning him to come closer.

“Here, hold pressure on the wound. I'll be back.”

She ran to the kitchen and opened the stone. A flame came out, small but still there, and Alayne held a wooden handled knife over it. She waited for what felt forever for it to heat up to scalding temperature, as Tyrion called for her repeatedly. She grunted, pour some lukewarm water in a pan, and brought it back to the couch. She asked Tyrion to go get a washcloth or two as she relayed him, her heart pounding in her chest and a nasty sound filling her ears. She cut out Oberyn's shirt as best she could and checked to see if there was anything in the wound, but there was too much blood to be sure. Still applying to pressure, she gave him gentle slaps to wake him up.

“Hey, hey. Wake up, lazy pants.”

Oberyn tried smiling, but it soon turned into a grimace.

“I need to know if you got shot, or stabbed.”

“My wolf,” he wheezed, “I did it.”

He coughed again, followed by groans of pain.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

After a while and a few attempts, he was finally able to mutter that he had been shot just as Tyrion came back from the bathroom. She motioned him over and asked him to hold the cloth over the wound again, and she searched through the contents of her first aid kid hurriedly. Oberyn had crashed again, but he was still alive; and Alayne willed herself to stay strong and keep nerves of steel, as she was likely to need them. She held up a small vial of morphine and inserted some into a barrel, then got his arm ready for the injection.

“What are you doing ?”

Tyrion was alarmed, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“I'm giving him something to numb the pain.”

“Do you even know what you're doing ?”

“Yes, I do.” She looked up at him, ready to do the shot, serious and determined. “This way, what's coming next will be way less painful.”

“Can't we get him to a doctor ?”

“No, we can't.”

“Why not ?”

“We just can't, okay ?” Alayne was trying her best not to shout, but she was under too much stress to have a firm grip over her anger towards Tyrion. “Just make sure he doesn't swallow his tongue.”

“How am I supposed to do that ?”

It seemed like Tyrion had some anger of his own, but Alayne simply did not care.

“I don't know, just do it, all right ?”

She inserted the needle into Oberyn's arm and watched him as his breath started to calm down, and his features soften. She checked his pulse, muttering a silent prayer to the Gods to keep him alive, and then set out to see if she could find an exit wound. And when she found none, she cursed and closed her eyes. One second, she promised to herself, one second of weakness before I do what I have to do. She forced herself to take deep breaths, and then stood up, went to the kitchen, and retrieved the scorching hot knife from the stove. She was praying for strength, for a strong grip and a firm hand, and headed straight back to the couch. Without thinking, without giving herself time to hesitate, Alayne tossed the bloody cloth aside, ignored the blood freely flowing down on her cushions, and put the burning blade on the soft, hurt flesh. She heard Tyrion gasp as her nostrils filled with an horrifying smell, but she knew that it was the only thing to do at the moment. She kept it there until the wound sealed, then dumped the knife into the pan and turned away. She muffled a sob, then two, steeled herself and bit her lip.

_This isn't happening. This can't be happening._

She ran her palms over her face, tucked her hair behind her ears, then turned back to check on Oberyn's pulse. She was vaguely aware that Tyrion was staring at her, bewildered, disgusted, with just a hint of pride in his eyes, but all she saw was Oberyn.

_How am I going to get him out of this one ?_

She knew that no exit wound meant that the bullet was still inside, and she had absolutely no way of getting it out, no way of knowing where it could be, no way to ensure that Oberyn would live. They were so royally screwed that it was almost funny.

“Alayne ?”

Tyrion's voice was small, and hesitant, and Alayne looked up at him.

“I have so many questions running around in my head right now.”

“I don't really have time, right now.”

She knew she had no reason to be mad at him, but she couldn't help herself. She was so scared, and half a man was really no help at all.

“Why aren't we going to the police right about now ?”

He was hissing at her, frowning and aggressive, as Alayne tried to wash the blood away from her hands. She forced herself to be calm as she answered in the most concise way.

“Because, Tyrion, it most likely is police that did this to him.”

“What ?” he scoffed, not believing her. “Why would the police want to shoot Oberyn Martell ?”

“ **Because he just killed one of them.”**

 


	7. Imposition

“Remind me again as to why we are spending three months in the North ?”

There were driving up the highway that were to lead them to Winterfell, capital of the Northern Territories, faster than they should, the radio on a news station, and Jaime, behind the wheel, completely at ease and relaxed. He flashed his brother a smile, and Tyrion felt a pang of envy, as he always did, when he considered the striking differences between the both of them.

Jaime was tall, and strong, and with a smile that opened all the doors and flung people to their knees. He was frustratingly celibate, though, something Tyrion had never understood, until he had.

“I thought you liked exploring new places.”

“I do, but this is a little excessive, don't you think ?”

Jaime laughed, but Tyrion was too sullen to ease up. He had been forced to leave his studies behind, his work, his – company. All of it, at the last minute, when his father came to his quarters and, without looking at him once, ordered him to pack up a suitcase and follow his siblings to Winterfell. He had been given no notice, no explanation, just a command he was to follow without question. Thank the Gods the old Stark castle had a library.

“I mean,” he continued when Jaime made no reply, “three months ? I'm betting the Starks aren't happy.”

“Fuck the Starks.”

Tyrion's lips turned into a half smile. “I didn't know you had such strong feelings toward them.”

Jaime kept silent for a while, looking straight ahead, his jaw set but his body relaxed. Tyrion tried to make sense of his father's query towards his two sons – Cersei and her children would only follow them in a week or two, Robert, Cersei's husband, already on his way, a few hours behind them – tried to understand the urgency behind the order, but he was missing a piece of the puzzle. A piece Jaime probably knew, but unwilling to reveal.

“They have something that Father needs, don't they ?”

Jaime sighed. “Let's just do what he asks, okay ? Don't get caught up in what he isn't telling us.”

“You mean, what he isn't telling _me_.”

“Tyrion -”

“That's quite all right, I'd rather not be involved in his plans anyway.”

Jaime glanced at him quizzically, but Tyrion was already steering the conversation away from sore subjects. If they were to spend the rest of the afternoon and the next day in the confines of this car, they might as well have a nice time. And if Jaime were to survive in Winterfell without his twin and without his job to keep him occupied, he would need him. Desperately.

 

 

They arrived in Winterfell late the following afternoon, and, as soon as they had passed the gates to the castle, Tyrion's breath hitched in his throat. Yes, he had had heard tales of the beauty of the North, beauty that could not be described, but he had not believed it until now.

Acres upon acres of green and brown forests. Grounds that spread towards the horizon, empty, but beautiful all the same. Old, tampered buildings spread throughout, with the sound of animals coming from them, and a few shouts in response. Tyrion could hear cows and sheep and horses, but it didn't diminish the elegance of the place. He could hear Jaime grunt softly in despair, but Tyrion saw it. He saw the sun, setting in the trees, red as hot iron, dripping in the clouds. He saw the quiet grace that surrounded the stone buildings, and the peace of the grounds. He saw the elegance and charm of the life the Starks were living, he saw, and yet he didn't know. The Lannister homes in Casterly Rock and King's Landing were luxurious, to say the least, and it was worlds away from the sparse way of life they had adopted here. Tyrion got out of the car, eyes full of stars and a smile on his lips, thinking – for the first time in his life – that he could not wait to see Cersei again, and watch closely as she would arrive and find herself deep in the country. He even regretted not to be in the same car as her and Joffrey, and get the full show as it enfolded.

He looked around him and took it all in. If he were an outdoors kind of man, this would certainly be heaven. He noticed trails leading into forests, and wondered what secrets he could discover following them; and he noticed the children playing swords a little further down the road, not caring that two new strange men, one of them a dwarf, had arrived. But someone had, as Catelyn Stark was now waiting for them to approach the house. She held herself straight, her chin up, grave but inviting all the same. Her hair and her clothes flew with the wind, and as Tyrion was hit by his first northern breeze, he wondered, shivering, how people could stand to be this cold. He closed his jacket and followed his brother towards the Stark Castle.

He found the inside of the house much warmer, and very comfortable. He could tell that the family living here valued convenience more than flash, and Tyrion understood why; this kind of house called to him, to his longing for family and happiness. This was a home, and every square inch was theirs; there were no generic art, no high end technology no one had any use for, no designer furniture you were afraid to break every time you needed to use them. He followed the trail of pictures on the shelves as Jaime and Mrs Stark were speaking – politely, but both cold and detached – and smiled as he saw the genuine affection they held for each other. Pictures of the whole family together were rare, but the children were heavily featured in their daily life, but also in their achievements. He tried to match names to faces, but it was just guesswork, and so he turn to the matriarch as there was a lull in her conversation with Jaime.

“You have a lovely family, Mrs Stark.”

“Thank you, but, please. Call me Catelyn. We are to live under the same roof for a while, after all.”

She said it perfectly politely, with a smile on her lips, but there was no mistaking it : neither of them, none of them really, would have set food in her house if she had had a choice in the matter. They ignored it, though, as she asked them to follow her.

“We have opened the East Wing for the both of you and your family. It might still be cold for now, but it will soon warm up.”

She showed them to a long corridor and opened doors, gesturing as to whom would live where, and what kind of amenities there were available to them, what activities they could do. When Tyrion asked about the library, she smiled and stated that he was welcome to use it at any time, but that, as the heating wasn't yet on in that room, he should warn the housekeeper beforehand. Catelyn Stark then turned to Jaime and him, and volunteered herself of give them a tour of the house, but Jaime politely refused, saying that they were tired, and that they should probably get themselves cleaned up before dinner.

“We are expecting Robert's arrival in a few hours, and he has asked that we wait for him. However, the kitchen is downstairs and open to you if you are hungry.”

And, with a last look and a last smile, she left them. As she was regaining the main house, Jaime and Tyrion exchanged glances and both chuckled before gaining their own rooms.

 

 

Tyrion was glad, very glad indeed. He looked around the bedroom and adjoining bathroom that had been assigned to him, and found a large room with a desk and a few chairs, and a bed that could have housed at least six of him. His luggage was neatly placed on a sofa near the door, and Tyrion dreamed of actually spreading his body on the bed and napping before dinner. He also dreamed, as a wicked smile spread on his lips, of a few women he would smuggle in, giving him blowjobs in that plush bed. That would be something.

In the end, though, his curiosity won over his weariness, and he moved over to the windows. He opened them, simply not caring whether or not the temperature would suit him once he'd have his fill of the scenery, and looked as far away as he could see. Somewhere on the far right were the stables, or at least what he thought were the stables – only a corner of the building was visible to him if he leaned enough. He could hear a few horses whinnying, and, once every two minutes or so, he could see a rider working on a pony. Beneath the rooms were the gardens, and he could see a raven haired boy looking up a tree, shouting at another, smaller boy in said tree, who was gathering apples and throwing them in the basket in front of the first boy. On the left and opposite him, he could see woods open and close all around Stark lands, leaves coloured in the most beautiful shades of red that he had ever seen, falling all around the old ones, and, suddenly, all that Tyrion wanted to do was go and take a walk amongst them, listen to the low murmur of the wind and to the cracking noises of leaves beneath shoes. The forest was calling to him, and, for some unknown reason, Tyrion, dwarf, bookworm Tyrion gladly answered that call. He rummaged his luggage for a warm coat, and left the comfort of his room for the cold of summer in the North.

He spent what felt like hours wandering between the trees, listening intently to find out their secrets, wondering whether the old legends were true and that they indeed whispered to each other, and to anyone willing to listen. Tyrion was very willing, and he closed his eyes and listened to the wind chiming in the leaves, the small sounds of animals living free among the trees, and only opened them back up when he heard steps. He turned around to face the newcomer, and found himself facing the most beautiful woman-child he had ever met. Her striking, dark red hair was entangled on her head and moving with the wind, and she was staring at him, fascinated and bewildered, and Tyrion felt drawn in by her icy blue eyes. They stood, facing each other, not daring to move, until a wolf came out of the woods and curled around the girl's legs. Tyrion wanted to warn her, to shout for her to move, but she had paid no heed to the beast until it began to lick her fingers. It shook her awake, and she turned her gaze elsewhere, her cheeks reddening, and she petted the wolf's head distractedly.

“I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry.”

Her voice was like silk and honey, and Tyrion couldn't help himself, he smiled.

“That's quite all right. I am quite happy you found me, actually. I fear I may be lost.”

“Oh.”

She looked like she was hesitating, like she wanted to be anywhere else but here, and Tyrion's smile dropped quickly. Pretty, yes, but she was a Stark – Tyrion had recognized her from the pictures in the hall and in the living rooms – and distrusting Lannisters was in their blood. Especially the Lannisters that didn't look like they came out of a fairy tale. But there was something about her that Tyrion couldn't quite shake off, and when she smiled at him – a smile so small Tyrion wasn't sure he had not dreamt it – and started walking, he followed her without question. She even walked leisurely so that he wouldn't have to rush too much, and, even though no words came out of her mouth the entire journey back, she did not seem hostile or even annoyed; she seemed like she was constantly fighting the urge to ask questions or the urge to look at him, and Tyrion would have gladly answered anything she might have asked, if only she would have been able to come up with words. Once they arrived back in sight of the house, she suddenly changed : she straightened her back and held up her chin, looking both scared and proud at the same time, and, after one last smile towards Tyrion, a small, but earnest gift, the first of many she was going to give, she quickened her pace and practically fled towards her home.

Tyrion, on the other hand, stopped. He simply could not make heads or tails or the young woman, and he was much more fascinated than he ought to be.

 

 

All in all, life in the Stark household was perfectly pleasant, delightfully peaceful. He loved seeing Cersei walk around as though she would rather be anywhere else but here, and he loved watching Jaime grow weary of his sister's whining and his father's orders. And he had understood why Eddard and Catelyn Stark were so against moving to King's Landing – an idea Robert kept bouncing off them every two minutes -: this was a very special place, this was home.

Even though he had mixed feelings about Mr and Mrs Stark, Tyrion found himself liking the six children more and more. Everyday, he looked forward to the family dinner, the only time of day the six of them were in the same place. Although they were on vacation, more often than not, the kids would not come home at midday, but rather appeared sporadically throughout morning and afternoon, completely taken in by whatever they felt like doing at the time. And, after a few weeks in the household, he finally got a glimpse into what he viewed as a perfect family. They had freedom, but they had been taught to be good people, and they had a strong sense of morality that prevented them from doing bad deeds or things they knew were not to be done.

Tyrion had quickly understood that the children had been told to be polite and courteous to the newcomers, but that they should be avoided like the plague whenever they could do so without rudeness. He had found himself particularly concerned by this order, as demonstrated by the three oldest. Now, he saw that Arya and Bran did not care for the order, and they would assail him with questions whenever they could get away with it. They were shockingly rude at times, but they only spoke their mind without fear and without filters, having not yet realized that the world did not work this way. Most of the time, Rickon would just go with it, not yet old enough to choose for himself, only following his older siblings.

The first three, on the other hand, Tyrion found to be real pieces of work. Robb was as nice as he had been told to be, but he was as serious as his father, and just as grave, and he would shoot dirty looks at Tyrion when he thought he could not be seen, gritting his teeth whenever he was in the same room as him. Tyrion would not have been surprised if Robb came out and bit him, as his behaviour was as territorial as a wolf's, especially around his siblings.

Jon was a little nicer, and Tyrion had been able to make him laugh once or twice, but he was his old man personified, and intended to obey his orders as much as he could. He kept his distance towards the whole Lannister/Baratheon family, and always managed to sit as far away from them as he could. Tyrion was certain that if he could have been anywhere else, he would have.

But his favourite Stark, the one person he actually wanted to get to know the most, was Sansa. Sweet, soft spoken Sansa, whose eyes colour changed with the weather, was the most fascinating creature that he had ever been in the presence of. His stomach tightened and his heart beat wildly whenever they were in the same room, whether or not she was aware of his presence. When they were in each other's eyesight, she would either ignore him completely, cheeks and neck as red as ripe tomatoes, or she would stare at him, and grin widely when he matched her gaze. During those times, she would stare and stare until someone spoke a little too loud, or one of her siblings would snap her out of it, and Tyrion felt somehow emptier when she averted her eyes. He had not yet been able to get more than two words out of her, and, every time he had tried, her dutiful older brother would separate them on the spot. Tyrion would have waved it off as brotherly protection if he had had any other siblings than the two he had, but he could not help but remark that Robb's attitude towards Sansa matched the one Jaime had whenever Cersei's attention was called elsewhere.

Tyrion had three main hobbies to pass the time in Winterfell : the first was mentally keeping score of the very polite fight that was going on between Catelyn and Cersei whenever they were in the same room. It proved extremely interesting if, like him, you know what to look for, and it was sure to perk any meal up.

The second was reading. The Stark family library proved itself incredibly well stocked, and, if he could have gotten away with it, he would have gladly spent most of his days buried in the books it contained. For the first time in his life, Tyrion was able to read about the legends of the First Men first-hand, instead of relying on Southern books, or history books he could get off the internet. He wanted to read every last volume the shelves contained, and he only reluctantly left them behind when he had to.

The third hobby, the one he spent the most time doing, was exploring. The grounds, the farms, the forests, the house. So far, he had found many beautiful secluded places that belonged to the family that lived there : hot pools under the protection of old trees, hidden deep within the forest and yet so close to the house that he could get there in a matter of seconds; hidden playgrounds with small wood cabins and toys spread everywhere, forming medieval attacks and pirate takeovers; wooden seats and swings one could sit in and talk without fear of being heard; long trails that went deep in the forest and on which he often saw Robb and Sansa, arms locked together, walk, their pet wolves running ahead. He envied them bitterly, envied this closeness and this freedom to be oneself without fear or barriers, envied this brotherly and sisterly love in its most potent form. He longed to join them, to be one of them, as he listened to Robb's banter and Sansa's laugh. He had explored the gardens, still full of produce even though summer was nearly over, the farms, the stables – where he was sure to find Arya -, the garages.

The house, however, the house was still a mystery to him. He had explored it from what had seemed top to bottom, and yet he was still finding new places every time he looked. No matter what secrets he enfolded, there were still many more to be found, and so Tyrion got to work, a flashlight in his hand and a smile on his lips. He discovered passageways in the walls, meant for the staff or for smuggling people – or things - in or out without them being seen, found alcoves meant to be secret to all but the people using them, with drawn-on fashion magazines and half eaten candy, books left open and long forgotten, small notes hidden behind seat cushions that made no sense to him but could reveal treasures if discovered by the right people, small objects stashed there, waiting to be picked up at the opportune moment. He even found a few rooms that were not in the floor plans he had found in the library and brought along with him, such as a painter's den in the attic – he had no idea whose it could be -, a small room that appeared to be an old fashioned salon, but was now only furnished with all manners of seats, chairs, and couches so big they could count as beds – Tyrion shivered in delight as he wondered how many kisses -or more- had been exchanged in that room – and rooms used exclusively by the staff that lived there. But his favourite discovery by far was the observation deck he had found on the second floor, surrounded by windows, and with no sign of it ever being used. There was dust on the chairs, but Tyrion could see so much : the stars, the grounds, and even the small dance studio that no one seemed to use but that was still there for whoever might need it. He made a mental note to talk about it to his niece Myrcella, who pined for her ballet shoes left at home. He starting using this room whenever he did not want to be found, to read, or write, or place phone calls that he was too afraid to place anywhere else. He even sometimes slept there, even though he tried not to. But he missed the stars that he could see from his own windows back at home, and he would lie on the floor for hours looking at them shine.

 

 

It was around eleven pm that night, and Tyrion was lying on that very floor. His time here was about to end – Cersei and Joffrey could not wait -, and he was pondering the order that had been given to him, as he so often had these past couple of months. His father was a heartless bastard, but he was cunning, and there was logic and reason behind his choices. The trick was only to find them. He also replayed his family's time here, Robert, Jaime and Joffrey gone almost all day everyday doing Gods know what with Eddard and Robb. It was just as well, Tyrion thought, as he more than disliked the way Joffrey was looking at Sansa. His nephew had chosen his next victim, and was now fixating on what he could get from her. It was making his blood churn in his veins, Joffrey looking at her as a predator observed his prey, and Sansa shooting shy smiles and carefully chosen words in his direction. The worst in this was that Joffrey could be extremely charming when he wanted, and none of those charms were lost on her. He gritted his teeth in recollection, but felt relief when his brain reminded him that he was not alone in noticing Joffrey's attentions. Robb, ever the white knight, did everything in his power to keep the little pig away from his darling sister. He silently thanked the Gods for Robb Stark, and prayed with all his might that he would always be around to keep her safe, and keep her away from him. Eventually, Joffrey would get bored, and if only Tyrion and Robb could get them away until it happened, she would be safe, even if heart broken.

Tyrion was so immersed in his thoughts that, at first, he had not noticed the music coming from the studio below. It was a tune he knew by heart now, thanks to his niece, and so it did not shock him to hear it out of nowhere. It didn't take him long, however, to understand that there actually was someone using the studio. He gasped as he saw Sansa's trademark red hair tucked into a tight bun, and watched, fascinated, as she took her place in the centre stage and began to dance a piece he had seen so many times before.

Myrcella Baratheon, by far his favourite member of the family, took ballet lessons almost everyday, and, more often than not, he would be the one driving her to them, and watching her as she danced. She had fallen in love with Tchaikovsky very early, performing in the Nutcracker and in Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, dreaming to one day be his Juliet and his Odette. These two characters were recurrent in her ballet years, and she had dragged him to hundreds of Swan Lake and Romeo & Juliet performances, made him watch with her as she put them on the telly. But, even Myrcella and her skilled loveliness, even the most famous of ballerinas that lent their bodies to the swan princess, none of them held a candle to the effortless grace of Sansa Stark, nor could they ever. She moved with ease and passion, mind overpowered by body, and the result was breathtaking. Tyrion could not help glancing at her never ending legs, and although he admonished himself every time, his eyes were drawn to them, especially as she lifted one in the air, then the other, and he watched her feet and her arms, and he watched her dance with her eyes closed, the music holding and carrying her far from Winterfell. Watching her dance was like watching a bird spread out his wings and take flight, and Sansa was Sansa no longer; she was a swan queen.

It didn't matter that she was wearing old shoes and a horrid loose fitting grey shirt, it didn't matter that she was dancing in an old house and not King's Landing Ballet Company's stage as Myrcella did, it didn't matter that her technique wasn't as good as Myrcella's, that he jumps were not as high, and it didn't matter that she was only fifteen years old and not yet a professional dancer; she had him hooked, had him enthralled, and his heart was pounding in his ears as she gave hers to the choreography. There were tears in his eyes, tears that he did not understand, and he couldn't do anything else but look as Sansa did the same number, again and again, until she believed it to be finally right.

It was almost midnight, and she was catching her breath, skipping songs on her ipod. Tyrion was about to leave when she settled on a song, a small smirk on her lips. He recognized it at once. _Odile's coda._

She shook herself, legs, arms, head, waiting for the right moment. Tyrion smiled, knowing what Sansa was about to try, and waited rather impatiently for her to start, but she was still looking for the perfect note to start on. And he watched, breath caught in his throat, as she hit the first turn and watched as all the others kept coming, and she turned and turned, looking right ahead at the mirror, wobbling a few times and almost falling at another, stopping herself at twenty turns. The number in itself was not extraordinary, and Sansa knew it; she laughed, shaking her head, glad to have tried, but knowing she still had a long way to go.

When Tyrion's head touched his pillow, very early that morning, and after he had closed his eyes, all that he could see were those fouettés of hers.

 

 

When it was announced, a few days before their departure, that the Stark family would indeed move to King's Landing, a solemn silence fell over the children. Tyrion could read shock in all faces but one : Sansa looked like she was biting back a grin, and he noticed her feet dancing under the table, unseen by all but him. He smiled, too, happy that he would get to know them all better. It was also decided that Jon would stay behind, and manage the farms with the Starks' overseer and with the family accountant, a decision that seemed to please Catelyn and Jon, but no one else. Robert roared with laughter and glee, and Eddard and Catelyn smiled politely in response, but, throughout the course of the meal, there was no sound coming from any of the children. Tyrion actually caught Sansa holding Robb's hand hard, and she smiled in his sleeve, but he saw no joy coming from the other children. They were so distraught that almost all of them left before dessert, a first in the Stark household.

Throughout the next days, the whole house was bristling with activity. There were clothes to be cleaned, toys to be found, books to be brought, and suitcases to be filled. Tyrion watched it all with detached amusement, trying to stay out of everybody's way, but the little ones were almost always looking for him to ask him questions about the the capital. Sansa constantly seemed on the verge of bursting with excitement, but, other than that, Tyrion sensed more contempt and annoyance thrown at him than ever: Robb had dropped all pretence of politeness, and Jon kept his distance.

But Tyrion simply could not wait to be home, to indulge in old habits in his own bed, his own rooms. He wondered where the Starks were going to live, but he really didn't care that much. All that mattered is that King's Landing was a whole new world to those kids, and that, if he played his cards right, he would be able to show it to Sansa. He imagined taking both her and Myrcella to ballet classes everyday of the week, then to real ballets and shows on the week-ends; and, yes, he knew he was getting too far and that she might not want to keep up dancing once in the city, but he couldn't help but hope. And, as he reflected upon those last three months, he realized that he had been happy here, and that he would sorely miss this house.

 

**All things considered, Tyrion was glad that he had obeyed his father.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what are we thinking of Tyrion ? And what about Winterfell ?   
> For those of you curious to know what Sansa was dancing to, here a two videos for you to watch :   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAfPbrhGKcU // the first number she did  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxT5gnXs4Ug // the turns she was attempting to do  
> Thanks for all your lovely comments, they warm my heart.


	8. Inanition

Right about now, Tyrion was much less happy about having followed his father's orders three years ago, as he was certain that if he had not met Sansa Stark in Winterfell when he had, he would have never ended up on Alayne Stone's doorstep, and he would not be in this mess tonight.

“I'm sorry.”, he frowned, quizzical and skeptical. “Oberyn Martell did _what_ ?”

Alayne stopped rubbing her hands together, and looked up to stare at him as though she had never seen him before. She glanced to Oberyn quickly, then settled her eyes back on him. Tyrion's stomach was in knots, as his brain tried, desperately, to figure out what was happening, and how he could get her out of it.

“You two know each other, yes ?” she inquired, after having steeled herself for what was about to come – a process that had Tyrion shaking in fear. She was still seated next to the sofa, next to the Dornishman who was looking as white as a sheet.

“I thought I did. Clearly, I was wrong.”

He had trouble swallowing. Something didn't fit: never in a million years could he have believed Oberyn Martell capable of murder. Cruelty, yes - he had witnessed it firsthand - but never murder. The Southerners had principles, the Dornishmen a strong sense of right and wrong, and he could not fathom how a man could betray his morals so. _He must have had a reason._ Or at least, he hoped that he had.

Tyrion started pacing back and forth, chuckling a little hysterically. He was muttering to himself, trying to understand just how much trouble they were in, all three of them, and how on earth he could get them out of it. If Oberyn did not make it, that was one thing, but he couldn't deal with Alayne having to suffer consequences for this. He loved her far too much to let her handle this by herself, but he couldn't see just what he could do to help. They needed a doctor, that was clear, but where would they find one that wouldn't immediately go to his sister, or worse, his father ? He was deep in thought when Alayne softly grabbed him by the arm and stopped him; he was too stunned to put up a fight when she forced him to turn to her, and clasped her palms on his cheeks. There was panic and tears in her eyes, but her voice was clear when she spoke.

“Tyrion, Oberyn has a bullet inside him that I simply cannot take out alone. He is most likely going to die, and I am scared out of my mind. I need you to calm down, please.”

She was pleading with him not to leave her alone – something Tyrion could have never done -, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, unable to look away from the trembling girl that he loved so much. He nodded once, then twice, and he saw her shoulders relax.

“Thank you.”

“I am not going anywhere, Alayne, but I still need to know what happened. I simply don't understand _how_ this happened.”

Oberyn's breathing was shaky, but it was constant, and his pain was under control. Alayne took her hands off of Tyrion to go and check on her friend, and went back to him as soon as she was finished. She motioned for him to sit down on the coffee table, where she took his hand and cleared her throat.

“Have you ever heard of Gregor Clegane ?”

Tyrion frowned. “He's my father's chief of Security. Why ?”

Alayne cleared her throat again. “Well, back when a Targaryen was still on the throne, Clegane was one of King's Landing's finest. He was stationed in the palace when Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar Targaryen. He was already secretly at your father's command, and, that day, he received the order to go 'take care' of Rhaegar's wife, and their children.”

“What are you saying ?”

Tyrion's voice was shaky, and his heart started to beat a little too loud in his chest. His mind was shouting in his ears. No. _No._

“I am saying that a member of the police, eager for a better paid and less dangerous job, murdered Elia Targaryen and her three children. And, a few days after that, when Robert Baratheon was safely installed on the Iron Throne and your father appointed president until elections could be held, Gregor Clegane was awarded the position of Chief of Palace Security.”

He felt sick to his stomach, and he wished to the Gods he had not asked. He didn't want to believe this, and yet a little voice in his head told him how true it sounded. After all, he had always known his father to be a cruel man, and he wasn't above anything for the sake of family heritage. His brother Jaime was proof enough, as he himself had killed a king and, instead of rotting in a cell for war crimes, he was safely installed as part of the Royal Family. So many thoughts were racing through Tyrion's mind, and Alayne's soft stare wasn't helping him concentrate.

“Gregor Clegane is the man Oberyn killed tonight, in revenge for his sister and her three children.”

Tyrion nodded, pain coursing through veins.

“Why did he come to you, once it was done ?”

It was the only question he could ask, the only question worth asking, and he instinctively knew that she would not lie to him when she would answer. She licked her lips, and moved away from Tyrion to go back to Oberyn. She soaked a washcloth in water, and put it on his forehead, checked his pulse.

“Because he knows I will help.”

The answer was simple, to the point, and yet it opened up a path filled with so many other questions. “How ?”

She turned back to him, frowning, not really understanding the question. “How will I help ?”

“How does he know you will help ? How is he so sure ?”

“Because I told him I would.”

Tyrion took another deep breath, question after question popping into his head, not knowing where to start.

“Why do you have a first aid kit in your bathroom that contains morphine ?”

She swallowed, hard, before she brought herself to answer. “Because I knew I would need it, one day. Though I always believed I would need it for myself.”, she added, for herself rather than for him, but Tyrion heard it all the same. He stood up and went to her, asked her to turn to face him with a touch.

“Why would you believe that, Alayne ?”

She looked at him for a long time with those sad eyes of hers, eyes that he could not help falling into, eyes he could not help but compare to a red haired girl's. She didn't seem to want to answer, though, and Tyrion had to urge her on.

“Why would you ever need this ?”

They were silent for a few more seconds as Alayne seemed to weigh something in her head, before she abruptly got up and disappeared into her bedroom. He contemplated following her, pester her for answers, but the sound of rummaging through clothes distracted him, and he could only frown as he waited. She came back to the room holding a small, worn out shoe box as though it was the most precious thing on earth. She sat down on her knees in front of him, so close that he could feel her breath on his skin, and yet their minds were so far apart that it physically ached.

“This,” she stated, soft and sad, “is all I have left from my family. Well, this and a burnt house in a frozen land.”

Tyrion's eyebrows shot up, and he had a sinking feeling in his gut. She gently pushed the box in his arms.

“I wanted to keep you out of it, Tyrion, I really did. But in the end, I simply could not stop myself from wanting to see you.”

She was staring at him, he could feel it, but he couldn't take his eyes of the box. He opened it as gingerly as he could, and instantly wished he'd never had. Tears welled in his eyes, and he felt the world close in on him.

He recognized it all on the spot: the necklace, the ring, the shoes. The first had been given to Sansa Stark by her parents, a small, silver chain with a single wolf hanging from it; the second, a gift, from Robb to his darling sister, in hopes that she would remember him always; the third, old converse that Sansa's siblings had doodled on, and that were now covered in dried blood. And, the most hurtful vision of all, he recognized the gold locket that he himself had given to Sansa Stark. He had intended to give it to her on her birthday, but was never able to, and he had finally handed it to her on the day that she had died, right before he had left for the Vale, and he had forced himself not to look and see if she was watching him leave. It was an old trinket that had no real value, but it had belonged to queens of old, and he knew it would delight her to wear it.

 

He felt a hand squeezing his heart, another squeezing his throat, and he was stuck on the jewelry he had thought he would never see again. He didn't want to look up and hear what Alayne's explanation was, but he couldn't bear to look, to touch those treasures either. He put it all back in the box and put it at her feet, all the while silent and looking down, before he left the living room.

He didn't know where to go, didn't know if he wanted to go, but he knew he was going to get sick if he looked at that box again. He was pacing in the corridor, passing in front of her kitchen, her bathroom, wondering why she had all those things, why they were so precious to her. _Sansa Stark is dead_ , a voice in his head stated, but why were her things here ? Yes, the necklace and the ring had some value, but why would Alayne keep the converse, and the locket ? He could hear her softly sob in the living room, and he could also hear that she was keeping herself busy trying to save Oberyn Martell, and everything in his brain hurt. He wanted out, he wanted to leave, and never come back; he wanted to go to the living room and confront her, ask her why she had hid those things to him if they meant nothing to her; and if they did mean something to her, why ? How could she have them here ? Why did she keep them, knowing how dangerous Stark possessions were ? She could have been killed for the shoes alone, but if anyone found the box, she was sure to be brought to his father and interrogated, quite forcibly so. Tyrion had so many questions running around, and he knew that if he tried asking them aloud, he would sound crazy. He wanted to bang his head on the walls, and he wanted to shake her, as if answers would magically fall from her.

In the end, he found himself walking back to the living room, intent on having some answers at least.

“If I ask one question,” he hissed, so hard that it made her jump, “can I trust you to tell me the truth ?”

“Yes.”, she responded, not hesitating one second. She had already shown him her worst secret, after all; there was nothing more that he could discover.

“Why do you have all of those things in your possession ?”

She turned to him, her eyes red. “Because they belong to me.”

“They belong to Sansa Stark.”

“I know.”

She looked at him under those lashes of her, still wet from crying, but she was dignified, and brave. Tyrion did not want to see, wanted to see, all those things that made Alayne Sansa, and Sansa Alayne, but his head was turning, and he had to sit down. He rubbed his temples with his fingers as his vision of Alayne changed, and he could not stop it, could not stop his heart from believing what was right in front of him, and he looked up at her and saw Sansa Stark looking back.

“How ?”

His voice was strained, and strangled, but his message was clear, and so was hers.

“Joffrey.”

Tyrion closed his eyes. “Was he the one who -?”

“Had my family killed ?”, she chuckled, a wet sound on wet lips. “Yes. And he was there to watch them die.”

“I thought – My father -”

“You thought that your father had done it ?”

“I thought he would have stopped it. But he knew. All those years, he knew what had happened.”

“Did you ?”

The interrogation came at him swift and hurtful. “No !”, he bellowed, not believing how she could ever ask such a thing. “Of course I didn't. I grieved for your family. I grieved for _you._ ”

Alayne – _no_ , he admonished himself, _Sansa_ – had tears in her eyes and a heart-wrenching look on her face that screamed guilt. “Yeah.” she whispered, “I grieved, too.”

Tyrion sighed, and his whole body screamed at him to go comfort her, hold her in his arms and tell her that she would be okay, that he would make sure of it; but his mind could not forget how she had lied to him for so long. If only she had come to him -

 

Their attention was called elsewhere when Oberyn started wheezing and coughing. Sansa fled to him, checking his temperature, swearing under her breath. Even from where he was standing, Tyrion knew that he would not make it unless they extracted the bullet, something that they could not do by themselves. As Sansa fussed over him, trying to get the fever to drop, his brain was looking under every rock trying to find a way, any way, to keep the Southerner alive for as long as it would take for them to find a doctor, but, as much as he tried, he could not shut off that little voice that kept wondering and wondering why Sansa wanted to save him so hard, why she cared so much. He wondered what he had done, if she was in love with him, if he fell asleep at night hoping and praying that he would see her come morning. All thoughts of medical help were pushed aside when he saw her kiss his fingers, begging and bargaining for his life under close lids, and overflowing sadness crashed on him. Why would he help, if saving him meant losing her ?

“Sansa ?” he called, so softly it was barely heard, but she turned her head, and she looked at him, and she was so full of devotion it took his breath away. She was waiting for him to say something, and Tyrion almost reiterated his love to her, as a gentle reminder that he, too, was there; but instead, he told her what he knew would help.

“His cell phone.”

“I'm sorry ?” She lifted her eyebrows, not fully understanding his meaning.

“Take out his phone, call his brother, Doran. He's the head of Martell Enterprises. He'll help.”

The words felt like razors out of his lips, and he couldn't believe he was actually helping. Sansa looked at him for a long time, before she closed her eyes and sighed happily, fishing for Oberyn's cell in his pockets. It took her but a second, and she scrolled through his contacts so fast that Tyrion wasn't sure how she did it.

“Hello ?”

She pressed the phone so hard against her ear that she was red all over, and Tyrion watched as his heart broke. Sadness was something that he had grown familiar to, over the years, but he had always found the way to steel himself to affection, denying it when it came from anyone but that damn wolf girl that had stolen his heart and played with it, _twice_. He wasn't quick to anger, priding himself on his calm and his cool logic, but Sansa Stark rattled his bones, and he wanted to smash that phone away from her, take her by the hand, and make sure that she would never see King's Landing or Oberyn Martell ever again. Thankfully for her, though, that thought was quickly overthrown by another: that, if he ever did so, he would be no better than his nephew.

“Please”, she begged, closing her eyes. “Oberyn's been shot. He's bleeding to death on my couch, and I don't know what else to do.”

He couldn't hear the answer to her words, but they seemed to make her feel better, as relief flooded her face and her shoulders relaxed.

“Yes, sir. We'll wait.”

She opened up her eyes and found herself staring at him, managing a small smile. Tyrion cleared his throat, his body flying to her before he even knew he was doing it, and he cupped her face gently. He had no words to say to her, nothing that could make her feel better, and she hung onto him, hiding her face on his chest, tears falling free. He kissed her head, thinking to himself that, once again, he had been unable to save her, and that she had had to find answers herself. He couldn't move, stuck in bitterness and built-up anger, and she didn't seem to want to, letting herself be held as she crushed his shirt between her fingers. If this had been any other day, Tyrion's breath would have been taken from him, and he would be happy to have the girl he so desperately loved finally letting her guard down; but this was not any other day, and she was Sansa Stark, the girl who had survived horrors and lived to tell the tale.

They waited, and waited, frozen in an empty embrace, until somebody banged on her door, and her flat flooded by Dornishmen. They took one look at them, Tyrion shocked and Sansa puffy-eyed, then one look at Oberyn, before one man in a lengthy grey coat came up to them.

“I will take care of him, yes ? Go to your bedroom, close the door, and let us work. We will be out of your way as soon as we can.”

They were half walked, half pushed to Sansa's room, and the door unceremoniously closed behind them, saying nothing more. Tyrion and Sansa were left to their own devices while her living-room was invaded by Gods knew whom, and they held onto each other tightly.

“He's going to be okay.”

It was all that he could say, and Sansa nodded, then sighed. She looked down at her shirt, sticky with blood, and took one look at Tyrion. He knew that he was relatively clean compared to her, but he couldn't help but feel flushed as her eyes scanned him. He even blushed when it dawned on him that he was in Sansa's bedroom, her things scattered everywhere from tonight's search, and his breath caught in his throat as he remembered the box. He needed to retrieve that before they broke anything, but, as he tried the door, he found it impossible to move it, no matter how hard he tried. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sansa frown, but he simply sighed.

“What about us, Tyrion ? Are we going to be okay ?”

“No.” The answer shot out of him simply, before he could prevent it, but it was true all the same. “I can't believe – I thought – Are you in love with Oberyn Martell ?”

He could hear her breathe, in and out, slowly, shakily; and, as he found the courage to turn back to her, he found her deep in thought.

“I don't know, I don't think so.” she finally stated. “It doesn't feel like normal love.”

“What does it feel like, then ?”

“Like – devotion. Like he saved me, and I saved him. He feels like family.”

“And what do I feel like ?”

He knew he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know. He had to know if he had a shot against Oberyn, had to know if he should leave this wretched city, and never look back. Her eyes focused on him, and she slowly sat down on the edge of her bed.

“You feel like -” she finally murmured, and Tyrion listened very carefully, his heart beating so hard in his chest, hoping for good news. “You feel like winter. Rough, and magical. You feel like home, sometimes, but mostly, you feel like a fucking question mark.”

“ _I'm_ the question mark ? Seriously ?” Tyrion laughed, bitterly, shaking his head. “You know what ? Let's just not have this conversation now. Let's wait until we know what happens.”

Sansa nodded, still as white as a sheet, and watched as Tyrion started pacing again. They waited, in silence, for hours as the noise from the other room grew. Tyrion had no idea who those men were, although he had an inkling that they were Dornishmen; either way, he found himself not caring about anything that went on out there. Sure, a man may yet die, but all that he could think about was how it would affect her. It sickened him, too, a life was in danger and all he cared was her, how she would perceive him after tonight, how it would reflect on their relationship, _if_ they had any relationship to begin with. He hated it, but he couldn't help it: whatever happened, he knew he would lay down his love at her feet, and pray that she accepts it, and returns it. And so, he waited in anguish, neither praying for Oberyn to live, nor hoping for him to die; he knew it wasn't up to him. He waited until, finally, he could wait no longer.

“This vendetta of his,” he started, and Sansa was caught by surprise. “ is it something that you two share ?”

Sansa looked away for a second, blinking, fighting away tears; but her voice was strong, and clear. “Yes.”

He sighed. “Are you planning on ending up like this, too ? Shot, and about to die ?”

“If it is what takes.” she shrugged, like it was no big deal, like her life did not matter one bit.

“No.” he exclaimed, and she jumped. “No. It may come as a shock to you, but we do have a judicial system, a system I am a part of, I may add; and this judicial system is quite functional. Use it.”

“Oh, yes. I'm sure your sister and your father would just sit back and watch me slander the good name of Lannister.”

Sarcasm dripped from her voice, and her arms were crossed in front of her, on the defensive, provoking him. He could see her point, and he saw the validity of it; and yet he refused to believe that justice would – could – not help her. Of course, he was no idealist; he knew his father had quite a lot of pull with judges and cops, and yet – the reality of things was that Sansa Stark had put her faith in herself, in a bloodthirsty man, in _violence_ , instead of putting it in the hands of the law. It ashamed him, feeling like he had let so many people down, to have seen it, seen what his father and his sister were ready to do, and yet he had done nothing to stop his family. He was simply content to watch, and feel superior because _he_ was fair, because _he_ hasn't done it. He sighed, casting his look down.

“I'm sorry we failed you.”

“That's all right. I have Oberyn.” She smiled a little. “Well, had. I'm on my own, now, apparently.”

She didn't sound like she was mad, but resigned, and determined. He was in shock as he looked up at her, frowning, and found her sitting straight, her chin in the air.

“What you don't understand, Tyrion, is that I know you're right. I should use the law, Gods know I have proof. Plenty of it.” she continued, looking straight up at him, staring into his sad glances. “But I can't watch as your sister and your father shoot it down, and my last shot at redemption gone.”

“Redemption ?” Tyrion chuckled. “Is that what revenge is going to bring you ?”

Sansa stared at him in silence, a hint of sadness in her eyes, but as persistent as ever.

“Violence only calls for more violence, Sansa.”

“Maybe you're right. But it's not going to stop me any more.”

She stood up and walked to him before dropping to her knees, just inches away from him. She was so close that Tyrion was sure she could hear his heart beating violently, and he could smell the iron smell of blood on her. She opened her mouth, and nothing could have prepared him for the words that came out of it.

“I am going to kill Joffrey. And before I do, I'm going to torture him. I'm going to put him through all the things that he has put me through, that he has put all those other girls through. He likes to beat us, Tyrion. He likes to hurt us. He likes to see us scared, and alone, and he likes to watch as desperation sinks in, as we realize that we're going to die there, chained to his ceiling, completely and utterly at his mercy. He likes to watch girls like me get raped, over, and over, and he laughs. For all of this, all that he's done, for my family, for my little brothers, my sister, my -” her voice broke before she could continue. But she swallowed, and recovered herself. “My older brothers. My parents. The six red-headed girls whose last days I had to watch while he whispered to me over and over that soon, it would be my turn, while Gregor Clegane and his colleagues of the Security Department pleasured themselves despite the girls' pain, despite their non-consent. For all the girls I have not seen, probably buried in a shallow grave somewhere, whose families they are never going to see again.

 **I am going to kill Joffrey Baratheon, and nothing, nothing that you can say will stop me.** ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, halfway through the fic ! What did you think so far ?   
> Thanks for all the kudos, you lovely people.


	9. Definition

There was something broken in Tyrion's soul, Alayne could see it, she could sense it. She knew she was the one that had broken it, and she wished she could fix it, but he had had asked her for the truth, and she had delivered, ugliness and all. She was still on her knees, locked in his stare, and she watched as hurt, and sadness, and fear replaced each other in his eyes, over and over, but he seemed incapable of moving.

“I'm not asking for your help, because that is not who you are. Under all those layers of hate and contempt, you have a kind heart, I have seen it.” She put her open palm on his chest, feeling it sway under his breath, and she heard it beat. “And I love that about you.”

She was silent for a while after that, taking his hand softly with her own, and laying it on her own chest, making sure Tyrion could feel how hard, how fast her own heart was beating. He closed his eyes, his body was still, and Alayne knew she was treading on extremely thin ice; and yet she continued all the same. _It was too late to be gentle_ , she thought, _and if he truly loves me, he will see why I am doing this._

“But I need to do this. I need to see him punished, if only for my siblings, for my family.”

“Must you be the one who punishes him ?”

His voice was small, and shaky; and she held on to his hand with both of hers to make sure he wouldn't leave. He opened his eyes again only when Alayne did not answer, and he searched for answers in her eyes as she searched for hope and for forgiveness in his. They were doomed, she thought, like star-crossed lovers she had once loved to read about, doomed to never be on the same page at the same time, doomed to never understand each other no matter how much they might want to.

“Please don't do this, Sansa. You cannot come back from this.”

He was pleading with her, closing what little space was left between them as he leaned to her, cupped her face in his hands. She grabbed his shirt, holding it tight between her fingers, wishing desperately that things were different, that she didn't have to kill anyone, that she didn't have to avenge anyone. She wished for peace, as she often did these past few days, and she wished for Robb, and for home, trying to find it in the most strange of places.

“I know.” she whispered, and she touched his forehead with hers. “But if I don't, I will never forgive myself.”

“I'm afraid you won't forgive yourself if you do.”

Alayne knew there was no point in arguing with him, he would never waver, and neither would she; they had once again come to a stalemate, each one closed to the other's argument, deaf to the other's wishes. It was part of the reason why she could not imagine herself growing old with him, as much as she wanted to; this unshakable need to be right, to shift the other one's view to theirs, was something that she couldn't deal with: she simply had no patience to. She sighed, letting him go, standing up.

“There no point in arguing, then, is there ?” she quietly asked. “But if I'm going down, I'm taking him with me.”

Tyrion was frozen still, and Alayne wished that she knew what was going on inside his head, if only to soothe her nerves. She shook her head and looked over at the door, willing for it to open.

_Gods, please don't let him die._

For all his other shortcomings, Oberyn was on the same page as her at all times; she could look at him and know what he was thinking, and she knew it was the same for him. She had had never felt as close to anyone in her life; not even Robb, who had been her pillar and her solace for most of her life, could match the adoration and affection she felt towards her snake. _Her_ snake, hers and hers alone, the man she knew she would spend the rest of her life with, no matter where, no matter in what condition, and he could be _dead_ for all she knew. She closed her eyes and prayed, Tyrion's stare burning on her back, everything silent and still.

“I wish -”

She heard Tyrion's whisper as loud as a bell, reverberating in her mind, echoing in her bones.

“I wish that you could see, that I could make you see, that killing Joffrey will not bring you peace. I wish that's you'd let me take your hand and that you'd let me lead you away from all of this, to a place where you could finally be free.”

Alayne sighed, shivering at Tyrion's free use of her former name, slowly opening up her eyes. She gritted her teeth and turned to him, tired of having to fight him constantly.

“And I wish that you would let it go, at least for now. Please.”

Her voice was gruff, and she could feel the aftermath of an adrenaline rush weigh on her shoulders. All she wanted was a hot bath with Oberyn in it for her to lean against, rediscover the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands on her, that soft, hoarse voice of his in her ear, and falling asleep against him once again.

“Are you expecting me to sit around and do nothing as you plot against my family ?”

“Do you love your family so much that you believe their crimes should be absolved ?”

“They should be sentenced by a judge, and a jury. Not by you.”

“In an ideal world, they would. But look around you, Tyrion : does it look like we live in an ideal world ?”

Tyrion knew she was right, Alayne could tell by the twitch of his mouth and the stubborn way that he refused to respond; but he was far from stupid, and he knew that, try as he might, justice would never fall on his family, not while his father was alive. He looked down, teeth gritted, and Alayne went back to looking intently at the door. Everything around them felt silent again, not a peep coming in from the living room, and she was left with nothing but her imagination running wild for company. She hoped that the quiet would bring her good news, yet there was an uneasy feeling in her stomach that she couldn't get rid of, and that only got worse when Oberyn let out a guttural scream. Alayne had to cover her mouth not to let one of her own respond, and she shut her eyes, and Tyrion's hand was on her back, trying to soothe her, and she fell to her knees next to him. They waited, jaws clenched and bodies shuddering, until all noise stopped again, and until quiet came back. Alayne quickly thanked the Gods that all apartments in the Hotel were soundproof, ensuring that no one would know of Oberyn's pain but them, before she tied her fingers together and started praying again. She tried to clear her mind, focus on the words that she had already said a thousand times, but fear was keeping her thoughts scrambled. She felt like screaming, too, and felt like crying, and felt like kicking down the door to see just exactly what was going on; the waiting and the idleness was driving her crazy.

“You did everything that you could, Sansa.”

Tyrion's voice was soft, gentle in her ear, and he kept stroking her back, hoping that she would calm down, but she was too hyper to sit back. It didn't surprise her that he seemed to answer her thoughts, as she no longer cared enough to put on a mask of cool detachment, letting her emotions show freely. Tyrion wanted to know her, or so he had claimed, and all of the anxiety and the fear was part of her, it defined her to her very core, and it would most likely stay there for as long as she will live. She glanced at him swiftly, lips pressed together so hard it was hardly more than a thin line, and nodded in thanks.

“If he is in pain,” Tyrion continued, “if he is screaming, then he is alive.”

She nodded again and went back to staring at the door. Seeing that he could get her no looser, Tyrion left her side and stood by the windows, staring intently at the outside world, and for all intents and purposes, effectively shutting down. Alayne remained on her knees, whispering prayer after prayer, hoping for the Old Gods to hear her. They both remained like this for a few hours, neither moving nor talking, adrenaline leaving their systems, leaving them exhausted and groggy, and they waited until, finally, something  happened.

There was a sudden knock on the door, and both Alayne and Tyrion jumped, their eyes following the sound. The tall, older man in the grey coat walked through it and smiled to them, all the while trying to get blood out of his fingers. Alayne looked at him from head to toe, finding him covered with more blood, and deduced that he had been the one who had gone in to retrieve the bullet. She stood up quickly, and he politely smiled.

“Please pardon my dishevelment.”

His voice was cold, heavy with King's Landing's shrill accent, but he seemed courteous and cordial nonetheless.

“He will live.” - Alayne sighed with relief instantly - “The bullet has been taken out, and there seem to be no mortal damage. He will live.”

Alayne nodded, feeling freer and lighter than she remembered being in a long time, wondering how her feet were still anchored on the ground. She took a step towards the living room, but was stopped by the grey coat's hand. He looked at her intently, not quite menacing but intimidating still, until she stepped back.

“I have talked to Doran Martell, Oberyn's brother, and he wishes for Oberyn to come to Dorne immediately to rest and recover. I don't believe either of you will deny him that.”

Neither Tyrion nor Alayne said anything at this, simply waiting as the man peered at them over his glasses, staring into their eyes and their souls. It left a cold feeling in Alayne's veins, but she bore it all the same, hoping that she could get to see Oberyn before they took him.

“Which one of you cauterized the entry wound ?”

The Doctor looked first at Tyrion, then at Alayne, who squirmed sightly. “I did.”, she stated, hoping for her voice to come out as steady.

“It was quite clever, and I admit that I was not expecting it.” he smiled, but it did not completely reached his eyes.

Alayne looked away. “Tyrion had the idea to call.”

She didn't know why she was so shy – although she had an inkling that it was due to the unsettling manner the stranger was looking at her, a mix of awe and condescension – and she couldn't tell why it was so important to her that they knew that Tyrion had helped. His gaze left her to fall on Tyrion, still standing away from the both of them, still staring out the window, and he smiled again.

“And for that, Tyrion Lannister, you have our gratitude.”

“But ?”

Tyrion's voice was gruff, and sharp, and Alayne realised that it was because he was expecting something to go wrong. She realised that she thought so, too, and that maybe was why she was so reluctant towards the newcomer.

“We would advise you not to tell your family of what you have witnessed here tonight. They would only question your involvement in last night's murder of your city's chief of security, and about the girl whose apartment both you and the killer visit every so often. Who knows what they will find about her if they dig.”

Alayne felt something grip her heart tight and squeeze, and she fought the urge to gasp. She had not yet thought about what Oberyn had done, too engrossed in saving him to realize just how big of a mess they were in, but Tyrion didn't seem surprised in any way.

“I could tell them she's just a whore.”

She flinch slightly at Tyrion's bitterness, and once again when she heard the other man chuckle.

“Ah. But you are not 'just a whore', are you, miss Stark ?”

Alayne's eyes flew to the man's, and found them to be smiling for the first time. They looked at each other for a while, she swallowing the lump in her throat, before he softly said to her : “We have always hoped that a Stark would still be alive. We searched this whole kingdom trying to find you.”

“And now that you've found me ?”

Her heart was beating loud and clear in her chest, and she fought to keep her chin up.

“Doran would love to meet you. He has asked me to see if I could bring you home.”

“Dorne is not my home.”

The words came tumbling out of her mouth without her consent, but the man opposite her took no offence, responding almost immediately.

“It could be.”

She frowned, taking the time to answer, and Tyrion quietly came up to her, putting a palm on her stomach. It took her by surprise, and she looked at him quizzically.

“Stay.”

He was sad, and scared, and he was whispering so that only she could hear. Alayne glanced back at the man in her doorstep and asked him to give them a few minutes.

“Of course. I will be waiting outside your door for you when you are done.”

He gave her a small bow, then headed out. Tyrion was still hungrily staring up at her, and she sighed once, before she knelt in front of him.

“I have to, Tyrion. They know who I am.”

“I will protect you.”

She smiled at him, running the tip of her fingers on his cheek. There was nothing that she could say that would convince him to let her go, so instead, she chose to do the only thing that she knew would give him some peace of mind : she gently put her lips to his.

Their kiss only lasted for a few seconds, but Alayne tried to have it convey reassurance, hope, and warmth. Tyrion was neither responsive nor hostile to it, and he simply held on as Alayne pushed against him. It was gentle, but cold, and she gave up a few moments after, looking at him instead.

“I'll come back. I promise.”

“But of course you will.”, he rasped. “Where else would you get to Joffrey ?”

Alayne felt a flash of shame, and guilt, at his words. She was used to his vicious sarcasm, but it had seldom been directed at her, and she didn't quite know how to deflect it. She simply let it go, nodded to herself, and got up, leaving without saying another word, without even looking at him.

 

 

She had been told that driving would be the safest way out of a panicked King's Landing – the news of the murder of a chief of security had started to find its way to the public – and so she had found herself in the back of a fancy car, a coat wrapped around her to hide any trace of blood on her clothes, at least until they had left the county, and shades on her eyes to mask her fatigue. Alayne bore it all in silence, lulled to sleep by the engine, but refusing to close her eyes. As soon as they were in the clear, she took off the glasses and the coat, turning to the man sitting next to her.

“Who are you ?”

That was one of the questions that had plagued her throughout the night, and she finally felt free enough to speak her mind.

“My name is Arys. I used to work for Joffrey.”

At his words, Alayne almost jumped with fear, but she forced herself to appear calm, and only a little curious. As he smiled at her and resumed talking, she glanced at the interior of the car with as much discretion as she could, looking for ways to defend herself if the need arose, or attack if she felt it necessary. She set her jaw and prepared for anything that might happen, quietly putting the thick brown coat she had been given around her so as to use it as a shield, or to twist Arys' arm or hand. She did not let him out of her sight, though, facing him as much as she could with her security belt on.

“I was there, the night he brought you to the palace.”

Alayne's heart stopped, and she felt walls closing in on her. She couldn't place him as one of the men that were in her home, nor as one of those who gladly threw her in a dark closet already filled with half-dead girls.

“I was not one of them, Sansa Stark, nor did I have any intention to be. I did not know of Joffrey's perversions until I saw them drag you to that door.”

“And you let him do it why ?” Her voice was shaky, but his was clear, and she could see shame in his eyes. It relaxed her a little, knowing that he was not proud of what had happened that night.

“I tried stopping it, but I was one man against half a dozen pigs. I went to the one person I knew would not let that slide as soon as I could.”

“You went to Doran Martell.”

He nodded as Alayne frowned. She still wasn't sure if she should relax completely, or if she should start kicking before he had the chance to make a move; and so she decided to position herself so that she could do either without hesitation.

“He immediately started to devise a plan to save you. But you saved yourself before we had the chance to move.”

He smiled, brightly and proudly, and she raised her chin. “I won't apologize for that.”, she stated.

“You should never apologize to me.”, he swiftly responded, before they both fell silent again. He stared at her, though, softly and almost dreamily, but, somehow, it didn't make her feel uncomfortable. She patiently waited until he said what he wanted to say.

“Three years, and you survived. He looked for you high and low, and you eluded him every time.”

She peered into his eyes, frowning again. “I had no idea my disguise was that good.”

He chuckled, oblivious to Alayne's sarcasm.

“It never crossed his mind to look for you in a whorehouse.”

She shrugged, and Arys continued. “Sansa Stark, born a lady and betrothed to royalty, an accomplished prostitute. It crossed nobody's mind.”

“That's because you were looking for someone who was dead.” Alayne swallowed, and her voice came out to her as hard as steel. “I survived, and I wasn't above anything.”

“And who are you ?”

In comparison, his voice was soft, and his features relaxed.

“I am the person who's going to kill Joffrey.”

She turned away, looking through the window at the passing landscape, focusing on everything and nothing at the same time, effectively ending the conversation.

 

 

She wasn't taken directly to Sunspear, but to a small town near the ocean called Water Gardens, where she had been told Doran lived with his children, and the rest of the Martell extended family. The house in itself was big, yes, and it shone in the sunlight; but the real eye catcher were the gardens attached to it. Even after almost all her life living on a farm and in the deep countryside, Alayne had never seen anything like it. Sight was not the only sense tangled in the gardens, as the smells and the sounds were far richer than anything she had been used to. She was struck with its beauty and it overpowering presence, and she immediately understood that, like the Starks, the Martells had been born to be outside, to revel in vegetation and nature. It made her breathe free for the first time since she had heard Oberyn groan behind closed doors, and she suddenly felt more exhausted than ever. Arys had excused himself and left her side, quickly replaced by a maid who had gently pushed her through long corridors and huge rooms, pushed her until Alayne was shown into a gorgeous pastel yellow room, filled with sunshine and yet as cool as summer in the North, with stone walls and open windows.

“There is a bathroom attached to the bedroom, miss Stark, and I also brought up a tray of food” - she gestured towards a table on Alayne's right - “for you to eat if you are hungry.”

The woman's voice was thick with a Dornish accent, and she smiled at Alayne, who only nodded.

“Thank you.”

After curtseying – something Alayne was no longer used to – the maid left her, closing the door softly after her.

Alayne looked at the food, her stomach roaring, but she decided to touch nothing before she had showered. She ventured to the bathroom, once again astonished by the sheer beauty of the rooms, and took her clothes off as quickly as she could as she made a beeline for the shower. She had noticed the tub, and longed to relax in it, but she thought it would have to wait until she had met Doran and seen Oberyn; and she avoided all the mirrors, not wanting to see herself covered in Oberyn's blood. She used the walls for support as she let water splash and roll onto her skin, closing her eyes, rocked by a steady stream of warm water. She washed the blood away from her arms, her fingers, her face, her hair. Red dripped from her and disappeared down the drain, and Alayne watched it go, too tired to feel anything, and, when she exited the shower and stepped out of the steam that it had created, she stood, naked, in the middle of the bathroom, trying to fight back tears, trying to fight the anxiety that was starting to seep through her veins once again. She should go to bed, she knew that, but she had no idea if Doran was waiting for her or not, and, above all, she did not want to appear rude. She walked to the bedroom and opened up closets to find something, anything, to wear that did not have blood or sweat on it. She settled for a long, flowy dress that she knew southern women were fond of that showed too much skin for her taste, but was surprised to find in her exact size. She looked further and found out that every item of clothing matched her mensurations, and was puzzled. _They were expecting me._ She grabbed a jacket that she wore over the dress, and headed out.

Arys was a few feet from her door, obviously waiting for her. He had showered, too, and looked as tired as she felt when he smiled at her.

“I wasn't sure you would come out.”

“I wasn't sure if I should.”

He offered her his arm with a silly gesture, clearly designed to make her smile, and she gladly did as she took it. He walked her the entire way back outside, chatting about the house as he did so, then the gardens, then the family. It was still quite early in the morning, but the house was awake, and so were the Martells.

“Dawn, dusk and night are the only times when the heat is bearable, at least in my opinion, and they like to gather in the gardens for the meals.”

Alayne smiled, remembering a family that liked to gather to eat, too, in a grand room heated by two fireplaces, and filled with a long, wooden table. She sighed, trying to push thoughts of the Starks out of her head, instead focusing on the family she was about to meet.

From what she could see, a few yards away from the tables, the Martells were a big, heterogeneous bunch. Doran was on the side, presiding over the rest of them; and Alayne recognized some of them from photos or Oberyn's description. They were almost all silent this morning, sullen and fatigued, but they all looked up when they heard Alayne and Arys come to them. Alayne saw all their heads turn to her, sizing her up, and she saw a few smiles and a few frowns.

“Sansa.” Doran had come to her, took her hand and smiled up at her. “It is so very lovely to meet you. We have heard so much.”

She didn't answer, still not used to hearing her name in other people's mouths again, but tried to smile as genuinely as possible.

“Come. Sit. Eat.”

Those were gentle orders she could bear to follow, and so she sat at the spot he had assigned her, on his right, then introduced his family to her. She nodded to each and every one of them, and could not help but feel like she was judged by every single one of them.

“We were very sorry to hear about your siblings, and your parents. Please accept our condolences.”

“Thank you.”

She was presented with mint tea and lemon cakes, fruit salads and watermelons, and everyone gradually went back to their own plates after seeing that she was a perfectly normal human being, and that she wouldn't be changing into a wolf anytime soon. Alayne peered at her plate, trying not to shove everything that it contained down her throat, and instead, ate with as much grace as she could. She ate in relative silence, answering when questions were asked, but remained too self conscious to talk much. She watched as everyone left but Doran and the woman who had been sitting opposite her and who had stared at her throughout the entire meal, and at whom she had stared back. She had warm eyes and an inviting smile, and Doran soon introduced her as Ellaria, pausing for a second, as if weighing his words, before he added :

“She and Oberyn have been together for too many years to count. Even though she may not share our last name, she is family, and you can trust her, or me, as you trust Oberyn.”

The intense surprise and following shame that Alayne felt at the news rushed over her like crashing waves, but she tried her damnedest to make sure her mask of coolness stayed on. She greeted Ellaria with a nod and as sweet a smile as she could muster despite the raging jealousy that was now spreading through her bones, trying to figure out just how much Ellaria knew about her. She could read nothing in her eyes except fatigue and amusement, and, much to Alayne's surprise, her voice was soft and kind as she spoke.

“We would very much like to thank you for keeping Oberyn alive until we could get to him. He is quite fortunate to have you.”

Alayne wondered if the older woman was mocking her, and her face was flushed. She observed Ellaria and Doran, found their bodies relaxed and laid back, but both their eyes were wide awake. She knew she was dealing with two extremely intelligent people, and she wondered if she was out of her league. She nodded, aware that she should at least keep a façade of confidence, and turned to Doran as he sighed. Ellaria's stare burned her neck, but she kept her chin up.

“We would also like to apologize for not getting to meet you sooner, miss Stark. Again, my condolences for your family.”

“Thank you.”

Once again, Alayne kept her voice from trembling at the mention of her family, and tried not to shudder at the use of her birth name. She did not, however, say more, and simply waited for the two of them to reveal their point; and it was Ellaria who continued.

“Oberyn has told us that you hold a grudge against the Lannisters, and so do we.”

Still, Alayne stayed quiet, only looking at the person who spoke, which seemed to amuse Ellaria. The three of them weighed each other with stares and smiles, until Doran finally decided to reveal his plan.

“There is a reason Oberyn killed the Mountain, beside revenge. King's Landing is finding itself without a chief of Security. Defenceless. It is time to strike.”

“No.” Alayne smiled, and Doran sharply turned to her, waiting for an explanation, frowning. “You know your brother well, and you know his style. It is highly likely that he announced himself, announced his intentions, his reasons. Tywin Lannister will be waiting for you, now, more than ever. The fact that he has not yet sent anyone here is in itself a small miracle.”

She felt, more than she saw, Ellaria's smile grow and widen, and Doran's astonishment.

“I'm only here”, she went on, “to make sure Oberyn will come back to light this city aflame with me. But I am going back as soon as possible, and you should prepare for a visit from Lannisters, most probably Jaime. Tywin Lannister will strike back. I just hope that you will be ready for it.”

“He will not start a war for a man like Clegane.”

“No, but he will start one if he feels threatened in the slightest. All that we can do for now is to lie low, and wait.”

“Wait ?” Ellaria softly asked. “Wait for what ?”

Alayne turned to her. “For Oberyn to get better. For the Lannisters to believe they are not the targets.

 **We wait, until they feel safe again, and then we strike. Hard, fast, and we aim to kill.** ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only six chapters left ! Who's rooting for Tyrion, and who's rooting for Oberyn ? Let me know :)  
> Thanks for the comments and the kudos <3


	10. Disinhibition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this is only a small chapter - I wanted to keep you updated before I leave for two weeks, and won't have the internet. I will be writing, though. Oh, yes.

Alayne had been allowed to see Oberyn for a few minutes that morning, provided that she would nor excite nor upset him. She sat on the edge of his bed, staring at every feature of his face, trying not to cry, praying that he would come back to her in one piece. She could have stayed in Dorne – Doran proposed it a few times -, but she chose to go back, hoping hat no one would notice her being gone for a few hours. She kissed Oberyn goodbye on his forehead, at the exact spot where he would kiss hers, and left the room without looking back. A part of her held on to the knowledge that he was too stubborn and too strong-willed to stay in bed long, and that he would be on his feet soon; but she was haunted by the beeps of his monitors, and by his ashen face where once there were so many colours, and by the blood that she had seen come out of him. She was torn between two feelings, but couldn't do anything about it, and therefore decided to leave the Water Gardens as soon as possible, and go back to King's Landing before anyone entered her flat. Arys told her that he would come back with her – his tone had made it clear that he would not take no for an answer – and Ellaria had walked with her from Oberyn's rooms to the car.

Alayne stared in front of her, not daring to look at the other woman, her heart beating loud in her chest. She couldn't understand why Oberyn had hid something this important from her, why he had never mentioned her. He had perhaps hoped that they would never meet, but Alayne hated the feeling that she had been a lie, their relationship some sort of distraction; all of it left a rotten taste on her tongue. She wanted to ask Ellaria if she had known about her, if she had known where Oberyn spent his nights when in King's Landing, if she had known about Cersei and the other prostitutes that Oberyn liked to meet. She wondered if, if Ellaria knew, did she care ? Should Alayne ask for her forgiven, say that she didn't know ? Alayne was plagued by too many questions, but, instead of speaking up, she simply walked with her chin as high as she dared, quietly.

Arys was waiting for her by the car – the same that they had used to come here – and she turned to Ellaria to say goodbye. She was polite, and cool, but Ellaria simply smiled before pulling her into her arms. Alayne had to bite her lip not to gasp, and she had to fight with herself not to tense up. She frowned, not knowing what to do, observing Ellaria closely when she pulled away.

“I'm glad to have met you, Alayne.”

She was still smiling sweetly, her voice like honey warming Alayne's belly, holding her hands in hers.

“I'm sorry we won't have time to talk, but I understand that you must go back before you are discovered. Just know that you will always find a safe haven here, and, as long as Doran, Oberyn or myself will live, you will always have a family.”

Alayne's voice was stuck in her throat, and she blushed. She felt ashamed of all the things that had happened with Oberyn while he was in a relationship with her, and she felt ashamed by the kindness she was showing her. She was frozen, stuck; until Ellaria kissed her knuckles softly, whispering :

“Oberyn has told me that, against all reason, against all logic, he is quite on his way to being head over heels in love with you; and I can see now, in your eyes, that you feel that way too. I do not mind.”

Alayne must have looked so shocked that Ellaria laughed, hard.

“Oberyn and I have been together for longer that you have been alive.", she went on.  "Our love and our desire towards one another is steady, and strong. We know each other, and we understand that sometimes, despite everything that others have taught us about love and monogamy, one person is not enough. Faithfulness does not matter, Alayne, not really; it is so easily breakable. But loyalty, and trust, those are the things that really matter. Remember that, and think about this. You can either accept me, which I really hope that you do, or you can not. The choice is up to you.”

With a final kiss to her temple, and a final smile, Ellaria left Alayne on the steps of the house feeling quizzical and mildly upset. She knew that Arys was waiting for her, but she wanted to take a second to breathe, maybe clear her head a little. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and tried to forget and shake off all of last night's memories, everything that lead to her being here, now. She took a second to herself, took a deep breath, settled her nerves, and got in the car. She slept the entire way back, and woke to Arys' gentle nudge, and realized that they had arrived. She sighed, a weight dropping in her belly. _She really hated this town_.

 

 

She found the apartment the same way she had left it, a bloody mess – literally. Her things were all over the floor, her precious box smashed and its content scattered and broken. If she had had the luxury of time, Alayne would have turned into a sobbing, grieving child, but she knew very well that people were bound to come in, sooner or later, and it was already extremely lucky that nobody had yet. So she steeled herself, not allowing for one tear to fall, gritted her teeth, tied her hair up, and went to work. She grabbed anything that stuck out, the instruments, the soiled clothes, the bloody knife, the broken utensils; everything went to the trash bags; she threw away things that had been hers for longer than Alayne had been around, not even looking at them, knowing that she was bound to regret it, but sure that it was the right thing to do for survival. She cleaned, and scrubbed, until very late in the night, her floors, her walls, the couch's cushions; she scrubbed until her fingers were raw and her knees sore, and until no one could tell if anyone had lived here for the past three years. She waited until a little before five, when she knew the garbage truck would pull up to the hotel and she would be sure everything would be taken away, before she closed them all up and took them all down. She had noticed Robb's ring on her doorstep, and hesitated for a second before she gave it a gentle kick to shove it back into her flat before she closed the doors.

It was important for her to keep a straight face, a tired face, so that the cameras would pick up a girl like any other, taking her trash out, and walking back home. She walked straight there, waited until the truck picked them all up, and went back to her room, holding herself. In the mirror, she saw a very tired young woman, but she still felt like a heartbroken little girl inside. She found herself wishing for Tyrion, for Oberyn, for anyone that could have understood her tears; and she squeezed herself tighter. _Save those tears for your pillow_ , she thought to herself, _like Cersei taught you_. She locked the doors behind her, and straightened up her room lightly before she fell on her bed, and, to her utter surprise, fell asleep before she could cry.

 

She was awakened at around noon by Jeyne's shriek. She jumped up and looked at her manager.

“Jeyne, seriously ? I was asleep.” Alayne moaned.

“Look at the state of your room !”

Alayne rolled her eyes at the other girl's drama queen reactions, and fell back down, hiding under her covers.

“I'm tidying up my closet.” - it was the first excuse that she could think of that would make sense to Jeyne - “You should have seen all the things I had to throw away.”

“Clearly a work in progress.”

“What do you want, Jeyne ?”

She was getting more and more fed up by her manager, and she wished for her to go away.

“I've got good news.” Jeyne singsonged, and Alayne jerked back up. She frowned, knowing full well that her version of good news was never fully aligned with her own, and that this could be very dangerous. Jeyne was grinning from ear to ear, almost too fully, and Alayne had a very bad feeling about this.

“ _He_ ”, she emphasized, “wants to see you !”

“Who ?” Alayne asked, even though she already knew the answer. There was a hand squeezing her throat, another squeezing her heart, and she formed fists with her fingers not to start crying.

“Joffrey !”

It took a second fr the news to sink in, a second during which she held her breath. “Oh my Gods.”

She knew Jeyne was observing every move that she made, every inch of her face, now sitting on the edge of her unmade bed. “The future king.”, she added, and Alayne knew that every word out of her mouth was fake, she could tell without effort. “Isn't that exciting ?”

Alayne could think of half a dozen words that were more suitable than exciting. Horrifying, for starters.

“Did he ask for me specifically ? Did he say my name ?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, Alayne, he didn't tell me, I didn't ask.” She was trying very hard not to roll her eyes or be mean, Alayne could tell that too. Her whole body was shaking, screaming from the inside out, and she hadn't recovered enough to slip behind her mask. She was on the verge of tears, and she hid by clearing her throat and getting up from her bed. It gave her brain something to do for a minute besides shutting down, and gave her legs a reason to stop shaking. Jeyne was following her, and Alayne had to do something that would explain moving. She went to the kitchen, took a water bottle out of the fridge and drank, while Jeyne looked around her curiously – nosily.

“When ?” was the question she asked. _How much time do I have left_ , was the one she wanted to ask.

She knew, knew everything that Joffrey did to the girls that 'entertained' him, she knew where he took them, she knew about everything. But, worst of all, she knew she'd have to do it on her own. No Oberyn, no back-up, no plan. And a terrible fear in the pit of her stomach.

“Friday.”

“Where ?”

“Have you lost all communication skills ?” Jeyne frowned. “Can't you form a bloody sentence ?”

Alayne glared at her until she sighed, and answered her question. “He's coming here.”

_Here_. Her heart leaped with relief. _At least I'll be in known territory._ She nodded, drank some more water, feeling her cool mask of indifference slide back into place. She could finally think straight, and her mind went to every possible outcome of the night, finding solutions to every problem that could come up. All she needed now was a plan. She had forgotten about Jeyne entirely until she sighed.

“Do me a favour, will you ? Sleep. You look like crap.”

Alayne rolled her eyes, but Jeyne had turned around to leave, and hadn't seen it.

“Oh, and, by the way,” she went on. “I have a message from the boss.”

She didn't stop moving, however, and Alayne had to follow her to the door. As she saw Jeyne waiting by the half open passage, she couldn't help but think she had plotted the whole thing to be extra dramatic.

“He says either you _please_ Joffrey, or you find yourself another flat.” She looked at her as she would have a dying cow, with disgust and contempt, before she left Alayne, whose knees were barely holding steady.

Three days. She had three days.

She fell to the floor noiselessly, sobs coming out of her like cracks in her armour, unable to move, unable to think. She was simply stuck in hopelessness, wishing for someone to magically come up with answers, and an escape plan. Seeing Joffrey again and killing him was all that she had wanted, but now that it was here – she was so scared, so alone, and still stuck, trapped, in Sansa's need for peace, and for quiet. Robb, Robb, she wished for Robb, wished for him to appear and take her away. She wished for Oberyn, for his strength and his can-do attitude, wished for Tyrion and his brain, for her mother and her wisdom, but she was still herself by the time that all wishes had run out of her. Three days, no back-up, no one to count on but herself.

And then she spotted the ring. Still on the floor, half hidden in a corner, shining like the sun, but the colour of the moon. She leaned in to grab it, stared at it for a second, then put it on her finger, feeling weightless by the time it rested there.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, got up.

If they wanted her out, then by all means.

She was out.

She had more money than she knew what to do with, and she knew of flats that were available, here, in the heart of the city. She'd use her charms and her smiles to lease one, move in, leave this place with no regrets.

**But first, she'd give Joffrey a reason to keep looking for her.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone excited for next chapter ? (100% not sorry)  
> Also - tags and warnings may change, so keep an eye out !  
> Love you all.


	11. Demolition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back :) Did you enjoy the last chapter ?

Here it was. Her new flat. Her new life.

Still miles away from a home, though.

As she had predicted, it had been rather easy finding somewhere to live near the centre of town – Alayne had managed it in a few hours -, however, it had been quite a bit more expensive than she had anticipated. She had signed the lease without thinking twice, though, having negotiated the price beforehand. She had been able to tell on the spot that the agency had sent her their most handsome and most charming employee, and, had Alayne had the time, she would have enjoyed the back and forth flirting he was used to make when leasing or selling. But she had been in a hurry, and had had to use both her charms and her iron will to get a good deal out of him. He had left her his card, with his own personal number on it, and Alayne had stashed it as soon as she was alone. Her plate was already full, she told herself, no need to add more on top.

She had moved in as soon as she had the keys in her hand, the day after Jeyne had threatened her with homelessness – as if she hadn't been for the past three years already -, even though she still slept at the Hotel. She had a few appointments to get to, things to do, and a date to plan; but she was confident. She had the know-how, she had the experience, all she needed was that little push to go through with what she had come up with. It was daring, to say the least, and it could end very badly for her, but at the same time, she knew Joffrey had never had a date like the one she had in mind, and she would make sure he'd remember it for the rest of his short life.

It had helped – a lot – that she knew everything there was to know about him, both publicly and privately, and she knew exactly what would make him tick. She wouldn't accept him in her flat – there was only one way out, and, if Joffrey was in, it would be heavily guarded, which made it a perfect trap, and she wasn't about to trap herself willingly – but would gently stir him towards her new favourite Hotel amenity : the basement gym.

It was an old, quite huge, open room, and Alayne knew for a fact that some of the more greedy clients met there on Wednesday nights for boxing matches, or for more extreme fighting. They would shout, and shriek, and bet more money than they had – quite simply, it was one of the Hotel best source of income, even counting the bar and the hookers. She didn't often came down until Oberyn taught her how to fight; since then, however, she'd been using it every night to practice on the dummies. And, come Friday, she would be waiting on the ring, in the exact middle of the room, surrounded by possible exits, and ready to give Joffrey a run for his money.

She had decided to leave the Hotel behind as soon as she was done with him, without going back to the apartment, and thus needed to get everything that she wanted to keep out of there. She took very little, though; some clothes, all her underwear, make-up she could use to disguise herself, gifts she had liked – the rest could, and would soon be forgotten about. Keep it, thrash it, burn it, Alayne couldn't care less about what they would do to forget about her. She was as disposable as tissues, they used to tell her, and they wouldn't think twice about putting her in the bin. Still, Alayne would miss the sense of habit she had developed between those walls, and even though she had never quite been able to call it a home, it had been a roof over her head when she was frightened and alone. She'd miss the false sense of security it had provided at times, and the routine she had had there. Still, moving on was inevitable, and Alayne was more relieved than not. All that was left was to give Joffrey a good enough time for him to want to look for her once again.

She had already chosen what make-up she'd wear, the dress she'd put on, and how her hair would be styled, and she took her time trying to achieve exactly what she wanted. It was a mix between what Joffrey had wanted Sansa to wear when they were out together – something pure, discreet, very little girl -, and what he had liked her to wear when she'd sneak out to meet him – deep red lips that would leave marks on his pasty skin, and cat's eyes made with the blackest eyeliner she could find -, something Alayne was comfortable with, and that wouldn't budge throughout the night. She'd be all in black, except for her hair. In a fit of folly, she had gone out to the hairdresser's, gave her a picture of Sansa she had found online, and asked for the same colour, but bolder. The hairdresser had looked her up and down, wondering what kind of crazy she was, but had dyed her hair a light shade of auburn, a softer orange than the one she had grown up with, but definitely hotter than the auburn that her hair used to be. She had thanked the woman, hid the hair under a stylish hat, and only looked, really looked, at it once she was in her new flat. She had spent hours that afternoon, staring at it in the mirror, under every angle and under every light, grinning at it, feeling more at home than she had been the past years. She knew that it was a bad idea, that it was like voluntarily bleating in the middle of a wolf's den, but she rationalized it by thinking that, if they had wanted to catch her, they would have done it already – after all, if Doran and Oberyn had found her, then so could they have. Perhaps Joffrey had simply forgotten about Sansa, they way everyone in King's Landing had forgotten about the Starks. Perhaps he hadn't forgotten, and was still looking for revenge. In any case, Alayne viewed Friday's date as a message to the Lannisters. _I'm here, I'm alive. Come and get me_.

Was it smart ? No, definitely not. Was it brave ? Quite the contrary. But, to Alayne, it was necessary. Even if it meant hiding afterwards. She could do it from her new nest, up on the sixteenth floor of her new building, listed as leased to a certain Jeyne Westerling – Robb's girlfriend from high school – watching too much tv and living off take out food.

 

As she woke up on Friday, Jeyne was waiting for her in the kitchen, looking into cupboards and into her fridge, casually spying on Alayne even as she was in the room. Alayne cleared her throat, and the other young woman turned, looked her over, and continued.

“Everything ready ?” she inquired, and Alayne stayed quiet. “Fine, don't tell me. Like I give a fuck, anyway.”

She closed the cupboard she was peering in, and turned as Alayne rolled her eyes. She leaned against the counter.

“So. Losing your v-card to a prince. You could do worse.”

Alayne sneered. “Sod off.”

“Fine. I was going to give you advice, but if you don't want it -”

She was clearly waiting for Alayne to say something, but she couldn't care enough to talk. She simply and coolly glared at Jeyne until she left, almost smashing the door behind her. Alayne sighed, a heavy feeling in her stomach, and put on the kettle before she went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Her morning was unremarkable, except that she found herself staring at her phone more intently than usual. She had had no news of Tyrion since she'd left for Dorne, and didn't really expect any; and yet, she found herself wondering what he was up to, if he thought about her, if he knew that she would see his nephew, the boy she loathed, in less than twelve hours. Tyrion couldn't help her, but she longed for his presence all the same. Her afternoon she spent getting ready, one last time before she left the Hotel forever, making sure everything was ready for the night to come. She stretched before putting on the dress she'd chosen – a little black dress, less formal than what she'd normally wear, but that was elegant and allowed her to move as she willed -, slipped skin-tight shorts under it, invisible but protecting, and brushed her hair until it shone, tucking it all on one side of her face. She had already done her make-up, grabbed a hoodie, and put all that was left for her to take into a backpack, put on some timberland boots, and walked out the door without looking back. She'd left a note for Joffrey, so that he'd know where to find her; and she walked to the gym looking nowhere but ahead, ignoring the stares she was getting from other girls, who knew who was coming to see her and couldn't understand her outfit, or why her red was suddenly red.

She left the whole room in semi darkness, with enough light for Joffrey's men not to freak, but not enough for them to recognize her at once. She'd grown quite a lot in the last three years, and Sansa wouldn't jump to their mind immediately, but she still wanted to play it safe. She stashed her bag outside, in a dark corner nobody ever went to, easy to grab in case she had to run, hard to find for anyone not knowing what they were looking for. She heard the clock on the wall tick as she gave the room a final look,and went to stand on the ring as it rang nine. Joffrey was supposed to arrive half an hour ago, but she knew him to be late at everything he went to, just to be sure that people were waiting, and to ensure he would never have to. It was one of his habits that she had hated, before she knew exactly what kind of monster he was, and tonight, she really couldn't have cared less. She figured he'd take at least fifteen minutes to follow the clues she had scattered all around – the restaurant, where a waitress waited with jalapeño peppers and another clue; the bar, where a barmaid was instructed to pour him a glass of their finest and most expensive champagne, bottle opened before his eyes; and finally, the wine cellar, where he'd find boxing gloves stained with the darkest red lipstick Alayne had ever worn, leading him directly to her. She didn't expect him to wear the gloves – he hated fighting, and always sent his dogs to do his dirty work -, but she did expect him to make the connection between them and the underground fighting pit where he was known to spend a few nights in.

 

She heard the steps before she saw them, Joffrey seething with frustration, making Alayne smile – she knew she shouldn't have awoken the _lion_ , but it was just too funny not to – half-shouting at his men that the bitch had stood him up, and that he'd make leather with her skin if he ever saw her again. One of them, a big one – Alayne guessed the other Clegane brother, the nicer one, to be the owner of the silhouette – saw her and stopped the future king, pointing at her with his finger, and Alayne saw Joffrey's expression change immediately. Where there had been ugly anger a second before, there was now a cocky, charming smile and a raised eyebrow. He took his time looking her over, completely unaware of the waves of disgust and contempt radiating throughout Alayne's gut. She bit it down, forced her eyes to smile, and steeled herself for what would inevitably come next.

“You're a hard one to find.”, he sneered, and she shivered, overwhelmed by bad memories and his breath on her shoulder.

“I'm worth every second.”

“You'd better.”

Alayne smirked, keeping her eyes on him, no matter how much she wanted to puke. “Is that a threat, your Highness ?”

She heard him chuckle.

“Threaten the girl on the ring, that wouldn't be smart.” He looked her over, head to toe, one more time, taking his time over her legs, licking his lips. “I want to see where the night goes first.”

 _You disgusting slimy little pig_. Alayne smiled. “Did you like my gifts ?”

“You've done your research.”

Alayne shrugged with one shoulder. “Amazing what five minutes on the Internet can do.”

“What else have you found ?”

He hadn't taken a step towards her during the whole conversation, which meant he could only faintly see Alayne, which, in turn, made her bolder.

“That you have very particular tastes.”

“Such as ?”

Before she answered, Alayne scanned the room, pacing the ring left to right. “You have a thing for red heads, and little girls that dress like grown women.”

“Careful.”, she heard a man behind Joffrey growl, and identified him as Meryn Trant.

“Oooh,” Alayne mocked, “are you going to bite ?”

“If you -”

“Enough !” Joffrey shouted, then turned to Trant. “Leave her be.” He circled back to Alayne, a half smirk on his lips. “She amuses me.”

 _I'll amuse you even more when I'll cut your throat, asswipe_. She imagined him wailing and begging, then giggled, playing with a strand of her hair. The perfect idiot, as she used to be for him.

“Where's the rest of your kennel, then, sire ?”

“Just this dog here,” - he nodded towards Trant - “and his pack master.”

Pack master. She breathed back a snort. “Liar.”

She heard him chuckle, and heard him whistle. Three other men came out of the shadows, all going to stand behind their lord prince, and Alayne recognized them all. Meryn Trant. Boros Blount. Balon Swann. Osmund Kettleback. The four of them she had seen behind Joffrey's red door. She gritted her teeth, trying not to let her disgust show. Joffrey was still smirking, full of himself and full of arrogance, and right then, Alayne knew. She knew what he had come here to do, why he was escorted by five men – she couldn't see Clegane anymore, but she had recognized him earlier. She knew he was here, somewhere. - when he normally goes out with just one, his main hound. She knew he was planning to take her back to that horrifying room, but this time, she wouldn't just have to watch. She'd be the main course.

Her hands formed fist behind her back. “Nice dogs. Have they learnt how to play fetch, too ?”

He laughed gleefully as the men around him gritted their teeth and tensed up their muscles, ready to teach the little insolent girl a lesson.

“Enough foreplay.” Joffrey stated, turning up to each of his men, sizing them up. “Kettleblack. Go and show her how we play at Lannister Mansion.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

She watched him slowly walk up to the ring, taking off his jacket, keeping his eyes on her. He was smirking, echoing Joffrey's face behind him, as he got onto the ring.

“I'm afraid you've taken on more than you can chew, little girl.”

Alayne stayed silent, forcing bad memories out in the open, to remind herself of the moves he used to pull on every girl that came in his way, herself included. He never touched their faces – Joffrey's rule -, but he did like to kick them in the stomach when they were down. _Simple_ , she thought to herself, _I just have to stay on my feet_. He had a lot of strength, but he was slow, and she knew she could take advantage of that. She'd have to get close, though, and that could get dangerous.

He was standing with his hands flat up before him, ready to hit, but he needed to come closer before he could. Alayne counted the steps he'd have to make before he could reach her – five – and devised a plan. Grab his arm, upset his balance, use it as a lever to kick him in the throat. If she could hit with enough force, he wouldn't be able to get up.

One. His eyes were smiling, and he was clearly enjoying himself. Two. Alayne's calm was somewhat unsettling; she'd always thought she'd be overcome by anger at this point. Three. Joffrey shouting behind them, but neither of them paid him any attention. Four. She heard clapping and more shouting, and a ringing in her ears. Five. He stepped, his fist already diving at her, and she grabbed it hard, steadying herself as a flash of surprise crossed his face. For all his military training, Kettleblack would never in a million years have guessed any girl would fight back, and it helped her greatly. She launched her foot, heel first, aiming for his Adam's apple, and she heard a throttled cry as she hit. After all, everything came to her in slow motion. She saw him fall, eyes wide open in disbelief, not quite yet realizing his mistake. She heard a gasp, and everything was silent. She moved towards Kettleblack, still lying on the floor, unable to move, careful and precise.

“This is for my sister, you disgusting swine.”, she whispered to him before kicking him in the nose with all her might. There was a cry, and there was blood on her boot. She pushed him and rolled him out of the ring, and he fell with a thud.

“Next ?” she inquired, and Joffrey's expression was halfway between horror and genuine enjoyment.

“Him.” he pointed towards Trant, and Alayne smiled. Good. This one she knew exactly where to hit.

She backed away, turning around quickly to see if she could find Clegane anywhere, or maybe another henchman hiding somewhere, but there was nothing but dark corners. She looked back as the man who was walking towards her. This one, she remembered, this one likes thirteen year olds who look more like children than anything, and he likes to uses his hands. He was faster, but stupider, more full of himself than any of the others. Still, she'd probably had made him angry when she kicked his friend, and angry men don't back down, and they don't hold back. But angry men leave holes in their defences, too. She'd have to find out which the hard way, though. Trant looked like a bull headed for her, shoulders first and fists formed, and Alayne ducked his attacks as she tried to find out his weaknesses. She took a hit to the stomach though, a hard one, and she whimpered with pain, making him smile. He had kept his crest ring – a hideous thing she would have loved to see him swallow – and punched with all his might. An acute ache rang through her belly, but she forced herself to stay focused on him, as he was already lunging forward for his next hit. She ducked, and put all her strength behind a single punch to the only area he would have never expected her to hit: his crotch. He leaned in automatically, and she used his discomfort to grab him by the neck and slammed her knee on his face three times.

“And that”, she whispered in his ear, “is for my little brother.” She hit him one last time, and felt him become limp beneath her fingers. She pushed him out of the ring, and watched him fall on a still unconscious Kettleblack. When she looked up, she saw Balon Swann drag a yelling Joffrey away, and Boros Blount unsheathed his infamous knife, the same one he used to cut clothes when he couldn't be bothered to tear them off. It was a long, sturdy thing that Alayne still feared, and she knew she would leave tonight with a few cuts on her skin. She swallowed, hard, shouts melting in the background, and possible plans to escape the knife filling her brain. She took a second to realize that someone had turned the lights off, and that Blount was nothing more than a silhouette in the shadows. Thankfully, it had surprised him, too, and Alayne was able to grab a long piece of cloth that she'd use as protection for her palms. She was getting ready to defend herself, and wondered what kind of game Blount was playing, waiting like this, and her every sense was on alert. Then she heard a ghastly splash, and a loud thud of a body falling on the floor. She jumped at the sound, not knowing what was going on.

“Little bird.”

That voice. It sent shivers down Alayne spine, both good and bad vibrations, and she back away a few steps as she heard him step towards her. She couldn't tell if he was here to fight her, too, to protect his prince; but she knew, deep down, that she couldn't fight him. She was no match for his strength, for his experience, but the problem laid somewhere else, too : she knew she could never fight the man who had helped her escape from that dreaded hospital. The cloth fell down at her feet.

“You.”

She guessed, more than she saw, the smirk on his face. She was frozen on her feet, now, but he was still moving forward, climbing on the ring. He stopped, a few feet away from her, looking intently at her, trying to figure something out. She saw relief, she saw anger, in his face. She was sure he could only read fear in hers.

“Told you to run, didn't I ?” He grunted, his nostrils flaring, but there was a flash of joy in his eyes. “Fucking Hell.”

Alayne sized him up, staying in a defensive position in case he'd attack, but said nothing. He took another step forward, never leaving her eyes, leaning forward much less than the last time she had seen him.

It had been raining hard that day, and she had been crying a lot, too. She had just awoken in a hospital room, lying on a comfortable bed, wondering why her lower belly hurt so much, gasping and shaking at the sight of her new scars. She had looked around her in despair, looking for something, for someone that would help, but the nurses wouldn't look at her, much less talk to her, and there was a guard on her door 24/7. The drugs they gave her were for the pain, and the discomfort, but they kept her docile and sleepy, and Alayne remembered sleeping a lot. It was fuzzy, like looking into a funhouse mirror, remembering all of this; but there was one thing that was clear, one memory. Sandor Clegane throwing clothes and barking orders at her in low voice, pressing her to wake up. She had got up, put on the clothes she'd been given, and left the hospital, keeping her head down and without looking back. He had given her the path to an unmonitored exit, and a quick word of warning. “What happens next is not my goddamn problem, bird. You're on your own. Don't think I'll help you further, cause I won't.” She had nodded, and she had run, and she had been free. Why he ever did what he had done was a mystery to her, but she had spent every moment thankful for the kindness he had shown her that day. After such an act of defiance, she had never thought she'd see him again.

And yet, here he was.

“You also said you wouldn't help me again. Clearly, neither of us can keep our word.”

He chuckled, a raspy sound that used to terrify her – it still did, a little – but she didn't budge.

“Nice moves.”, he growled, looking at the two men bleeding on the floor.

“Nice timing.”, she sang, looking at him.

They half glared, half stared at each other for a second, quiet and unmoving, and Alayne could feel the fear in her stomach turn to tension.

“Little shit don't know it's you, bird, but he's still pissed. He'll be back.”

The man she knew almost exclusively as the Hound took a flask out of his pocket, gulping it down softly. She left his eyesight for a second, and Alayne used it to search for any concealed weapons with one look.

“I know. I can't leave without thanking you, though.”

She saw his jaw clench. “Thank me for what ? I ain't done shit for you. D'you hear ?”

“So what, then ? I kicked his ass, I kicked _your_ ass, and then just vanished ?”

“Aye.”, he shrugged.

“Your reputation is going to love that.”

“Fuck my reputation.”

“Your Prince will love it, then.”

“Fuck the prince.”

He had articulated every syllable to make sure his meaning came out as clear as a bell. Alayne chuckled softly, but he was still stone before her. He was waiting for her to leave, that was clear, but Alayne was still unsure about how to say thank you.

“Fuck the prince.” she agreed.

“If he finds you, he'll kill you.”

“Then he won't find me.”

There again, silence installed itself between them, and Alayne was somewhat calmer, letting her guard down little by little.

“And you tell your boyfriend he deserved that fucking bullet.”

Alayne frowned. “My boyfriend ?”

“The Dornishman.”

“You shot him ?”

“Aye. He killed my brother when the bastard was mine to kill.”

 _Ugh. Men._ She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. Makes perfect sense.”

“Don't mock me, bird. Run, before I change my mind.”

She took one last look at him before starting to leave. She stopped mid step, though, and turned to him, grabbing him by the shirt, standing on her toes, kissing his burnt cheek.

“Thank you.”, she whispered, and flew away as he stood frozen, unable to decide if he had just been attacked or not.

 

Alayne ran as fast as she could to the bag she had hidden earlier, took her black hoodie and some jeans out of it, put them all on, and jumped on the first bus she saw. The streets were all blurry, and the adrenaline that had been pumping in her system was slowly leaving her, and she was now drowsy with sleep. She was shaking, too, one of her fists aching dully, but she was out, she was unhurt. She was lucky. She exhaled sharply, trying to concentrate on where she was, hiding under her hoodie's cap so that no one could see the red. She left the bus to hail a cab, got off it a few streets away from her new flat, and ran the whole way. She was still shaking, and her stomach was now halfway between demanding food and the edge of sickness, but she had made it. She closed the three locks of her door behind her, let the backpack fall to the ground, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She had made it, she'd done it. She'd successfully taunted the monster enough for him to want more, not expecting one second she would be the one to come for him. She started to laugh, uncontrollably, hysterically, and hid it behind her hands. When she'd be ready, when Oberyn would be back, they'd set the last part of their plan in motion.

**And the little shit would never know what's hit him.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four more chapters to go ! How do you feel about the story so far ? Excited to get to the end ?


	12. Decomposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's been a month since I uploaded ! I hope you'll all forgive me <3

ALAYNE

 _Safe_. She checked the door behind her a few times, just to make sure. _She was safe_. The Hound had said Joffrey hadn't figured out who she really was yet. And now, he didn't know where she was, either. _He couldn't get to her here._

As adrenaline and hysteria left her system for good, and after she had been able to stop laughing, Alayne found herself sick to her stomach, and she had to settle down in the bathroom, naked knees on cold tile. She shook for minutes on end, unable to keep her eyes open, inches away from become a sobbing mess. But she was safe, now, and she forced herself to let go, at least for a few hours. She put her forehead to the cool marble of the sink, the low temperatures on her skin reminding her of home, and she calmed herself down by breathing slowly, and deeply; in, then out. She reminisced about Winterfell, about Arya and Bran and Rickon, muddy and wet, about Robb and herself giving them hot baths to make sure they wouldn't get sick, about Jon laughing as he saw in the state that they all were now, in the steamed bathroom, all five of them as wet as though they had been under the rain, and she remembered being so crossed about her hair, now frizzy and unruly, and Arya teasing her, and Robb teasing her too; they all did it, and she was mad, but she laughed too, at the end. For a second, she was back, surrounded by her siblings, and all her worries were trivial, and she was safe, really safe, and then she opened her eyes, and everything was cold once more. She sighed, reminding herself why she was seeking revenge, why she was going to kill a prince. For family. And tonight, tonight she had taught Joffrey a valuable lesson : his bad actions didn't disappear, they didn't vanish into thin air, leaving him absolved of all sin, no; and those actions would one day come back to bite him in the ass. She simply had to make sure her teeth were big enough to kill.

 

She woke up the next morning dizzy, blinking a few times in the unfamiliar setting, and it took her a moment to realize that she wasn't in her old flat anymore, that she wasn't at the Hotel. The uneasiness came from novelty, and would soon pass; and Alayne smiled, knowing Joffrey couldn't get her here. She yawned and stretched, glowing with the luxury of sleeping in, feeling freer than she had in a long time. No more clients, she thought, no more lies about who she was, or what she wanted. She was out in the open, and yet safely hidden, and Alayne found it oddly exhilarating. Joffrey knew that she knew about him, about what he liked to do; and he knew that she wouldn't go down without a fight, that she'd beat every single one of his dogs before she'd ever go back to the red door. She was quite sure she had been the first one to rebel so violently, the first one that had made a mess of his plan, and she hoped he would look over his shoulder from now on, and not feel completely safe in his desires. It was a good feeling, Alayne mused, knowing she could scare Joffrey the way he had made her scared, always feeling like he should hide, like he should be careful. She grinned. She couldn't wait until this became permanent for her : waking up this way, knowing that she could be free of fear. Smiling at the sun rising through the windows, she dove under the covers, and went back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes again, the sun was high in the sky, and her phone was ringing intently on her night stand. Her arm propped up from under the covers, but she remained safely under them, refusing to accept the daylight. She answered without looking who it was, unwilling to open her eyes.

“Hello ?” Her voice was thick with sleep, almost hoarse.

“Hey, little wolf.”

It was almost a whisper, but it shook Alayne awake with a jolt.

“Oberyn !”

“Did I wake you ?” A hint of mockery hung from his words, but she didn't care.

“Yes, you did.” she beamed. “How are you ?”

“Still in bed. No one will let me get up.”

“Nor should they. You need to get your strength back, then come back and fight lions with me.”

She hid below her pillow, the covers tucked all around her, wanting to pretend that he was here with her.

“I know. I can't wait.”, he chuckled.

“How do you feel ?”

“I'm fine, my wolf. But Dorne is boring without you. I wish you were here with me.”

His voice was low, and soft, and if Alayne pressed her phone hard enough against her ear, it was almost as if Oberyn was whispering to her.

“And I wish _you_ were here. In _my_ bed. With _me_.”

He chuckled again, this time a throaty sound that made Alayne shiver. “I miss you.”, she added. “I want to spend my nights with you again. So you stay in bed, you take your meds, you obey your doctors, and when they say you can come back, then don't you dare wait.”

“Yes, ma'am.” She imagined him saluting, and smiled. “Tell me about yourself. How are _you,_ little wolf ?”

She told him about her new apartment, her new things, told him about Jeyne's ultimatum and about seeing Joffrey again, and he pressed her to give him every detail about how it went. She told him about how well she handled herself, that she was unhurt, but very proud of herself. She spoke freely, telling him about everything that she remembered, closing her eyes so that she could pretend he was next to her. In return, he told her about his recovery, what the doctors did to him, what kind of tests he had to do, the medication he was on. He told him about Doran, and how he kept asking if she would come back, and he told her about Jaime's impromptu visit to Dorne, which she had predicted when she had been there.

“He says I chose you well. Doran.” he chuckled.

With a courage that she wouldn't have had if he were here – the only positive aspect of them being apart, she thought - , Alayne saw an opportunity to talk to him about Ellaria, and she seized it with no hesitation.

“And how many more have you chosen, besides Ellaria and I ?”

“Alayne -”

“I'm not mad, and I'm not trying to be mean. I'm really not.” Alayne swallowed. “I'm just curious as to why you don't tell me about them.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Her. About her. Only Ellaria, and now you.”

“At the moment.”

“Yes, at the moment.”

There was a silence at the other end of the phone, and Alayne was left to nurse her feelings in silence. She understood how someone could love different people at the same time – she was experiencing it herself, with Tyrion and Oberyn, and denying it would be stupidly naïve of her -, but she couldn't see how one could be with more than one person at a time. She had been taught since birth that you find someone, and that you devote yourself to that person until the relationship ends – if it ever ends. No one else would matter any longer, not while you were in that one relationship. At least, that was her mother's version, and her friends', too. Ellaria understood, though; and maybe she would tell her, teach her how to accept sharing the man you loved. She really hoped to be fine with it, as she very much did not want to lose Oberyn, and she knew she could not get him without getting Ellaria, too.

“Little wolf ?”

“I'm here.”

“Tell me you're all right.”

She chuckled before his imposing tone. “I'm all right. I just wish you were here, and we could talk about it face to face.”

“Come to Dorne.”

Alayne shook her head. “No. You know there are things I need to do here.”

“Come to Dorne, little wolf, please. Come to me.” he whispered.

“Oberyn, I can't.”

“Very well, then. Abandon your beloved.”

He was laughing, she could tell, but it pained her all the same. She hid it behind a chuckle, though, and went on with the conversation without missing a beat. They stayed on the phone for hours, and Alayne's stomach growled, making Oberyn laugh and laugh. She nibbled on cereal bars, unwilling to make lunch, then unwilling to make dinner, as they talked about everything and nothing, about what was next, about Tyrion, too. She told him she hadn't seen him since she had left for Dorne, that she was worried, and Oberyn pushed her to call him.

“Would you accept him, then ? Tyrion. As I want to accept Ellaria.”

He was silent for a second before he answered. “If this was your wish, my wolf, then yes. I would.”

They hung up a few minutes after that, but Alayne's mind was still stuck on those words. She sighed, then resigned herself to call Tyrion.

She was hesitant, at first, looking at her phone as if it would bite if she got any closer; but she chastised herself and called. It was already dark out, almost night time, but she called anyway. She heard it ring and ring, and no one picked up. She sighed and cursed, and sent him a text, hoping he'd see it, maybe call her, too. Give her some peace of mind. She sat back against her new wall, set the phone down on the table in front of her, and she resumed staring at it.

 

___________________________

TYRION

 

The phone was vibrating against the wood of the table, but Tyrion decided to let it ring.

“Is that one of your whores calling ?”

His father was on the other end of the room, seating in an armchair, a small book open on his lap. He was staring, glaring, at Tyrion, who was staring back at him. He was standing, opposite his father, and he had no intention to sit. He had come in demanding answers about questions that could no longer go unasked, and his father had dismissed him until the moment Tyrion had held out the revolver.

Tyrion had always thought he would be repulsed by the idea of holding a gun, any gun, but it didn't feel like the weight and burden he had believed it would be. It had surprised him at first, how easy it had been to aim it towards his father, and he hadn't trembled, and he hadn't flinched. And yet, Tywin Lannister felt no fear, only contempt.

“I don't have whores, father.”

Tywin snickered, but there were no smiles on his face – there never was.

“Not what I've been told.”

“I don't have whores.” Tyrion repeated, before sighing. “I have one - woman.”

“Ha.” His father was laughing, but not in good humour. “Is that what she would have you believe ?”

“That's enough.” Tyrion's voice boomed in the small space, and he took a step forward. “Now, do I need to repeat my question ?”

Tywin looked like he was tasting something sour, nursing over a repulsive feeling, and he put his chin up.

“Is your nephew the monster you think he is ? Yes. Can we do something about it ? We would have had a chance, if his mother had consented sending him away. It is too late now, so why resent it ?”

“Did you know what was behind that red door ?” Tyrion's heart was in his mouth. He knew his father to be cruel, and cold, and shrewd, but he hoped that he would have done something, anything, if he had known. “Did you know what he was doing when he and his pack of dogs were in that room ?”

“What your nephew does is his business.” _Lie._

“It could have ruined us all – It could still ruin us all. That, as far as you're concerned, makes it your business, doesn't it ?”

Tywin put his book aside, marking his page with a heavy velvety ribbon, crimson, with a golden thread. A gift from Cersei, the thread being a strand of her hair. Tyrion had seen her make it, and had joked about it, belittled it any way he could, but only in his head. Cersei had wanted to be accepted, and loved, by her father – something Tyrion understood a little too well – and he could never mock her for it.

“Did your whore tell you about the door, Tyrion ?”

“The next you say that word, father, I will pull the trigger.”

“You don't have the guts.”

“Maybe I don't, maybe I do. Are you eager to find out, father ?”

Tywin's eyes were now almost imperceptible under his large frown, but he said nothing, and swallowed hard. Tyrion repeated his question.

“Did you know what was behind the red door, father ? Did you know what your precious grandson was up to ?”

He took his time answering, jaw clenched and fists clasped, and Tyrion almost lost his cool. The gun was starting to feel heavy, and his short, stout arm would not be able to lift it much longer. He had spent hours with Jaime, before coming here, pestering him until he confessed to knowing about the Starks' murder. He knew nothing of the girls, and Sansa's fate, and Tyrion hadn't had the heart to hurt him with more than words.

“Yes.”

It was a simple answer, a simple word, and yet it sent Tyrion's heart flowing down his stomach. He felt sick.

“You know about the girls, children, for some of them, and you did nothing ?”

He was too upset to be rational, his whole world view crashing down, and the gun fell to his side, still very much attached to his hand, but dormant.

“Who cared about these girls ? No one ever came for any of them. What does it matter ?”

“You are Westeros' protector, _the City's protector_ , its Chief of Police. You were their protector, too.”

Tywin rolled his eyes. “They are not worth your anger, and they certainly were not worth my protection. But tell me, why does it matter ? Why are you pestering me now ?”

He was looking at Tyrion, frowning, looking for answers. When Tyrion lifted his eyes up from the floor and back to Tywin, his father noticed the tears welling up, and understood.

“Ah. She was one of these girls. Your _whore_.”

The shot was unexpected for either of them, and it rang in Tyrion's ears, even with the silencer. His father still sat upright, too stunned to shout, but his gut was bleeding profusely down his shirt, down his lap. He looked at it, then back to Tyrion.

“Monster.” he finally said, breathing the word more than he said it.

“Yes, Father. We're all monsters here. You, me, Joffrey, Cersei, Jaime. But my only crime was to be born ugly, and a dwarf, and not as dumb as you would have liked. Yours, father, yours will be far worse to explain to the Gods when you meet them.”

After taking one last look at his father, Tyrion shot him again, this time higher, and in the heart. He waited until he was sure his father was dead, traded the gun for his phone, and left the mansion without looking back. Once he was far enough away, he unlocked his phone, and dialed one number.

“We need to talk.”

 

___________________________

ALAYNE

 

Tyrion had sounded upset. He had sounded hoarse, and rough, like something bad had just happened. Alayne shivered, hugging herself. She had given him her new address without hesitating one second, and she was only now thinking that she shouldn't have. _He should have been here by now_ , she thought, closing her eyes. _He should be here._ She massaged her temples, trying to breathe deeply, trying to ignore the loud beating of her heart. She watched the hands of the clock moved tirelessly, tediously. She waited, and waited, standing, sitting, crouching, slouching, trying to distract herself as best as she could, until she finally heard a knock on the door.

At this point, she was much too nervous to breathe correctly. She came to the door armed and shaking, and she only let him in after having made sure that it was him. He was frantic, looking as nervous as her, and he retraced her steps unknowingly as he started to pace up and down her living room. She didn't notice anything wrong with him physically, no limp, no bruise, no cut; but it was obvious that something was very wrong - he hadn't even looked at her yet.

She sat on the edge of her couch, elbows on knees, and watched him cool down. She had had the hindsight to open a bottle of wine before he got here, and he had helped himself to it a few times already. Something was very wrong, he was shaking, and Alayne frowned when she saw it.

“Tyrion, what's going on ?”

He came towards her slowly and painfully, as if he were walking on needles or coals, and he took the hands she had extended towards him. Gently, he kissed her knuckles, making Alayne shiver with the intimacy of the act, and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them back up, Tyrion still wasn't looking at her, but he had stepped just a little closer. _He's looking for comfort_ , she realized, and so she let go of his hands to grab his jacket, pulling him into a frail but warm embrace, forehead to forehead. He was sighing, he was shaking slightly, and Alayne kissed his face sweetly, softly. She took her time, lingering on his scarred cheek, his hollow nose; kissing his jaw before resting her face in his neck the same way he had buried himself in her.

“You're going to be okay, Tyrion.”

“How ?”

His voice was too small, especially for him; he was a man of words, his voice his main asset; to hear him now was painful, for both of them.

“I don't know, but we'll figure it out. We always do.”

She pulled away, staring at his face, a mix of sadness and pain in her eyes. _Look at me_ , she wanted to say. _Look at me, look at me_.

“He knew.” he whispered. “All along, he knew. Tywin. He knew about the girls, about your family, about you, in that awful room. He didn't raise a finger. He didn't care.”

Alayne swallowed, taking the news in as calmly as she could, but it was as if thunder had started in her gut. So it wasn't just Joffrey, not just Cersei; but Tywin, too. The man appointed by the 'people' to take care of them, to protect them, and he hadn't even frowned at his grandson's extracurricular activities. Dozens of girls' lives, her own, too, all of it, wrecked by a temperamental boy, and the Chief of Police looking the other way. Anger rose inside of her, covering her from head to toe, and she heard, more than she saw, Tyrion winced as she clenched her fingers into fists. There was rage within her, white, hot rage that burned her, and it somehow all evaporated when Tyrion spoke again.

“I shot him. Twice. I watched him die.”

 _Shit_. “Oh, Tyrion, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

 

___________________________

TYRION

 

He nuzzled against her. He couldn't help it. She was so warm, she was just there, and unlike anyone he had ever met, paid or not, she had never recoiled from his touch. Not that he had much wanted to, at first, but he was so glad of it now.

He was exhausted, drained, and if he listened to that little voice in his head, he would have never moved from her arms again. He had just done the most horrible thing anyone could do, he had just killed someone; and yet he could think of nothing else but life beside her. It was almost obscene, to only think about the future, a shared future, when he had just thrown his away. He couldn't say exactly what had possessed him to pick up the gun his father always kept in the second drawer of his desk, much less how he had had the courage to pull the trigger. Was courage the right word, though ? Tyrion wasn't sure. Was it really courage that had made him fire those two shots ? He had been angry, of that he was clear, and he had been tired, the same fatigue that struck him on bad days, the one that left him empty, hollow. He hadn't thought straight, and now here he was, about to give up everything he had ever wanted, ever worked towards. He was going to have to give up the woman he loved, and they both knew it. He had only come to say goodbye, he realized.

She kissed his cheek, and pulled away staring.

“What now ?” she inquired.

He had been too scared to look at her, too scared to see the pity, the fear, the incomprehension that would no doubt be in her eyes, but he couldn't help looking at her now. He searched her gaze and found only sadness, only weariness, and it punched him in the gut. He didn't want to let her go.

“Now I run. Now I hide.”

“But – where ?”

He shrugged, unwilling to break his gaze. He had no answer for her, none that would satisfy them, and he found no lie to tell, no joke to make light of the situation. They were silent for a few moments more, and Tyrion could see that Sansa had more and more difficulty hiding her tears.

“What are you going to do ?”

He let go of her hands with one of his, using his thumb to wipe away fallen tears on her cheeks. He, too, wanted to cry, to let emotion flow, but he knew he had to stay strong, otherwise she would never let him leave, and that, however desirable, could only spell disaster for them. He cleared his throat.

“Well, there are a few libraries in Essos that I wanted to visit. I'm sure they'll keep me busy for a while.”

She shook her head slowly, snivelling. She held onto his hand tighter, almost hurting him.

“I don't want you to go.”

Tyrion closed his eyes for a while, extricated his hand from her, and held her by the cheeks. He was staring right at her, eyes to eyes, and he stated in the steadiest voice he could muster.

“You're going to be okay. I promise.”

“I know. But are you ?”

 _Come with me_ , he wanted to say. _Take my hand, don't let it go. Run away with me._ Instead, he softly pulled her closer and kissed her. He felt her grabbing at him, mild but violent at the same time, trying to reach for the stability he knew she craved. He couldn't give it to her, now or ever, he could see it now. He felt his heart shatter, and he pulled away before she could fall into it. He extricated her hands from his shirt, pushed them away, and whispered :

“I will always love you, Sansa Stark.”

 

___________________________

ALAYNE

 

He had gone before she could answer, and she had been left to cry on her own. She couldn't believe he had gone, he had really gone, and she was now more alone that she had ever been. She hugged herself, trying to keep herself whole when all she wanted was to fall apart. She let herself cry, though, and she let herself sob, until her head was aching and her nose was raw. And then she got up, shook herself off, and called the one person she knew she should call : Doran.

“Tywin Lannister is dead.” she stated, without greeting him.

There was a silence on the other end of the phone, and then a single sentence.

“Arys will pick you up in thirty minutes. Be ready.”

Alayne was too tired to argue, and didn't even wait for the tone indicating that he'd hung up before she started throwing clothes in a bag.

 

They reached Dorne in early morning, both weary and wired, and they went to Doran before they went to their respective rooms. He seemed to be waiting for them with a fresh pot of coffee, still steaming, as Alayne and Arys settled opposite him.

“What happened ?”

“Is it not in the news yet ?” Alayne inquired, and Doran shook his head.

Arys, however, frowned. “If you're talking about Tywin, then they haven't told anyone but his closest colleagues. They were planning a press conference for this morning when I left, though.”

Doran seemed lost in thought, and Arys stood up to put the tv on. He was looking for a news channel, and Alayne looked at his back.

“What are the Lannisters saying happened ?”

Arys turned to her for a second, then went back to the screen.

“Didn't say. But Cersei is furious. She was yelling and throwing furniture – even Jaime couldn't calm her down.”

Doran was staring at her, and Alayne forced herself to meet his eyes.

“Tyrion killed him.” she declared, falsely calm.

She registered the shock in Doran's gaze, heard Arys turn sharply, and silence settled between the three of them for a long time, only broken by a news anchor on tv. She was mumbling in the distance, faint and loud at the same time, and Alayne had to hold her coffee mug to stop her hands from shaking. Knowing it was one thing, saying it out loud was quite another. They remained quiet, Doran now staring at nothing, Arys leaning onto the table, looking at the screen, the news anchor still talking, and Alayne wondering where Tyrion was, if he was okay, if he had gotten out of King's Landing.

“Today,” the woman on the screen droned, “is indeed a dark day. We have just learned that Tywin Lannister, Westeros' Chief of Police, was found dead in Lannister Palace a few hours ago.”

Three heads shot up to stare at the small screen, deadly silent, holding their breath.

“Mystery remains as to what happened, but Jaime and Cersei Lannister have called for a press conference a little later this morning.”

The silence lingered for a few seconds more before Doran turned back to Alayne.

“So the media hasn't found out yet. Do you think the Lannisters know ? About Tyrion ?”

“It would be hard not to jump at the conclusion. He fled the scene, and left the gun.” Alayne sighed. Tyrion had made it very easy for his siblings, and if ever he was found, trial would be swift, and decidedly not in his favour. She shook her head.

“You saw him. After.”

It was not a question, but Alayne nodded anyway.

“Did he tell you why ?”

“He knew. Tywin. About the kidnapped, raped girls in their basement. About Joffrey's hobbies, about my family, what had been done to them, to me. He knew everything, and couldn't care less about any of it. I assume he was working hard to make sure it stayed silent, but other than that – he had probably forgotten we were real people.”

Arys had his jaw so tightly clenched that Alayne half feared it would break, and Doran's features had whitened to ghostlike colour.

“I knew Tywin Lannister had a black heart, but this – Of course, I expected nothing else from him. I rejoice in his death, and I assume I will not be the only one.”

The three of them sipped their coffee in silence, lost in thought, waiting until the press conference appeared on the screen. Alayne was cold, even in the warmth of a southern morning, and she often glanced at her phone, hoping, quite foolishly, for any news of Tyrion. As the news anchor on the screen changed and the headlines repeated, she realized something. She looked up and touched Arys on the shoulder.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why ? What's wrong ?”

He was frowning, and Doran had seemed to emerge from his mind to witness the scene.

“I don't think you can go back.” she stated, boldly. “Tywin dead and you leaving in the middle of the night – That doesn't look good for you.”

The two men looked at her intensely before Doran agreed. “She's right, Arys.”

Arys shrugged. “Good riddance.”

“How about you, Sansa ? Do you want to go back ?”

Doran's voice was soft, and sweet, but Alayne understood the sentiment under it. _Will you finish what you started ? Will you kill Joffrey ?_

“Do I want to ? No. Will I ? Oh, yes. I have a job to do.”

Arys lifted his cup to her, smiling brightly.

“ **Here, here.”**

 


	13. Culmination

When Oberyn woke that morning, dizzy, a little feverish and a great deal sore, he found his bed to be full. Not only was Ellaria in it, her arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder, but his little wolf, too. Finally, she was there. He wanted to touch her, make sure she was real, not a product of his drug fuelled imagination, but he couldn't move. She was on the other side of him, the side closer to the door, as though she had come in gingerly and wanted to make sure she could escape if need be, her back to him, oblivious that he was awake, that he wanted to see her face. She didn't move, no matter how much he wanted her to. She had his arm around her shoulders, her beautiful hair was spread across his chest, and he frowned as it registered in his mind. Something was wrong. Her hair was different. Red. Not quite Tully red, though. Dark, burning coals red. He tried to smile, but he was still half-asleep. He was too stunned, too sleepy to register what was on the channel they were both watching, and he could only hear the droning of a woman's voice. _Damn those pain pills_ , he thought, _making me groggy_ ; he was frowning up until he felt a light kiss on his shoulder, and saw Ellaria softly smiling up at him, and then it was back to dark.

 

_______________________________

ALAYNE

 

It hadn't been her idea, to climb into bed with the both of them. Surely she was supposed to protect their intimacy, not burst through it ! But Ellaria had insisted, and Alayne, filled with joy at seeing Oberyn again, had not taken long to convince. They had settled around him, each on one side, and, after Ellaria had put the tv on – Oberyn still wasn't allowed to leave the room because of complications in the surgeries he had to have, partly due to Alayne's botched attempt at saving him – at a very low volume, she had asked Alayne to turn to her.

“I'm very sorry for Tyrion, little one.”

She had come to the dining room where the three of them – Doran, Arys and Alayne – still were,some time after they had finished talking, and Doran had filled her in, notwithstanding a single detail. She had been the first one to inquire about Tyrion, the first one to wonder where he was, where he'd go.

Alayne swallowed her tears. “Thank you.”

“How do you feel ?”

She could see in Ellaria's eyes a tenderness that shocked and amazed her. In some ways, she believed the Dornishwoman was a lot alike her mother, and alike Cersei Lannister : she was soft, and sweet, and thoughtful, up until the moment when the claws came out. She was a mother, Alayne realized, and she treated her like her own. But she was no child, she knew, no one but a survivor and a warrior. And, for all of Ellaria's sweet caring, that could never change.

“I'm all right, thank you.” She forced herself to smile. “How are you ?”

The other woman laughed, as low as she could. She was avoiding the question, shrugging it off as a joke. Alayne found herself biting back a frown. _Was she hiding something ?_ “I'm very well.”

“How about him ? How is he ?”

“You know Oberyn : stubborn as a goat. He is up most of the day, doing this or that, and ends in this bed complaining of pain, cursing every one.”

They both chuckled, and Ellaria kissed his neck. Alayne was afraid he would stir, and wake, but he only tightened their grip around them, and went back to softly snoring. She watched Ellaria's smile grow as she observed him, and felt a pang of sadness. Oberyn did not need her to feel loved, and even though she was trying, very hard, to accept that he was not hers, not entirely, and that he would never be, it still made her ache.

“Why have you never married ?” she inquired, filled with curiosity.

Ellaria shrugged, focusing on her. “Why bother ? We are married in all sense of the word, expect in paper. A piece of paper doesn't matter, it can be torn, lit on fire, shredded. Our love is strong, and it can never be hurt.”

“Would you have, though ? Had he asked ?”

“Why is marriage so important in your mind, Sansa ?”

It was Alayne's turn to shrug. “It's what I was taught. Even with all that I have learnt since coming to King's Landing, even with all that I know now – the things I was taught of the world still cling to me.”

“Oberyn will not marry you, Sansa.”

“It's not about that, Ellaria.” - it was the first time Alayne had used her name, and her heart was beating uncontrollably, as though she was transgressing some rule - “I don't mind that he won't marry me. I'm just – I'm struggling to reconcile the world I live in and the world I was raised to believe I would live in.”

She found it hard to look into the other woman's eyes, especially since she believed Ellaria could see everything through them; but she made herself stare. She wanted, more than she dared to admit, Ellaria to like her, to accept her, and she wanted to like and respect her in return. Ellaria tilted her head, half-smiling, but said nothing more. She, however, extended her hand towards Alayne, sliding it across her arm, entwining their fingers together.

“You're too sweet a girl to have had such horrors happen to you. For that too, I am sorry.”

“It's in the past now; I want to look forward, as hard as it is.”

A squeeze on her hand. “That is incredibly strong of you.” She pulled out her hand, and half-rose on her elbow. “Do you know why Doran so desperately wanted to save you, Sansa ? Why he wants you on our side ?”

Alayne thought about it for a minute, knowing that the answer was not because Doran was nice, because he believed that it was what he should do out of the goodness of his heart; Doran was a businessman, cunning and ruthless. He did not run a charity. _He needs me_ , she realized.

“I have seen my whole family die, right in front of me, while I lived on, incapable of helping.” She clenched her jaw, shut her eyes. “There is anger inside of me, rage; I will stop at nothing before I get what I want, just as Oberyn does. That is why he wants me here. I am the weapon that will rid him of a few threats, and leave his path clear for power.”

“Will you ? Rid him of a few threats ?”

“As many as I can.”

Ellaria stared at her for a while before she sank back into the bed, and onto Oberyn. She focused back on the tv, leaving Alayne to wonder why she had brought the subject up, if she disliked the answer. She had been nothing but clear about her intentions since she had met Oberyn, and she couldn't understand why Ellaria had seemed sad at the prospect. She turned back to the tv too, though, and squeezed Oberyn's arm around his shoulders. She was rocked by Oberyn's breathing, the gentle sway of his chest, and, before long, she was asleep, too.

 

 

When she came to again, she immediately realized Oberyn was awake as well. He had kept his one arm around her shoulders, but he had slid his second around her waist, under her shirt. They were pressed together, hid under covers, and he was smiling against her skin.

“Good morning, my wolf.”

She grinned, shivering under his touch. “Hi.”

“You're red.”

She chuckled, noticing the tv was still on, and that the conference was about to start. She frowned, extricating herself from his embrace, and practically threw herself on the remote to raise the volume. She was sitting on the bed, Oberyn's hand on the small of her back, but unmoving. Alayne's heart was thumping in her chest, and she started, automatically, to pray for Tyrion.

Cersei and Jaime were offering a united front on the screen, and Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were nowhere to be found.

“Thank you for coming this morning.” Cersei was the one speaking, her voice steady, holding herself tall. “As you know, our Father has been found dead-” A pause, to hold a sob in, to show the hurt. “-dead this morning, from gunshots. One to the stomach, another to – to the head.”

Something was fishy, and Alayne frowned again. It was too staged, too stuffy. The Cersei Lannister she knew would never show what she believed to be weakness, and she would certainly never cling to Jaime like this.

“The murder weapon has been found next to the body, and we can now link it to the person who wielded it.” Why wasn't a policeman speaking ? “I am deeply ashamed to say our brother Tyrion is our only suspect. A countrywide search has begun. So if you see, or hear anything, if you meet him, if you come across him, please call the number now on the screen. Do not engage with him. Tyrion is a dangerous man, more dangerous than his height might suggest, and he is vicious, and he is, in all likelihood, armed. Please stay away from him, and call this number. Thank you.”

The twins left the stage, Jaime still holding on to Cersei, to Mace Tyrell, now interim Chief of Police until elections could be held. Alayne turned it off, putting the remote down. She did not move, though, and she closed her eyes.

“Alayne, what is going on ?”

“Tywin Lannister is dead. Tyrion shot him.” Her voice was too shaky for her taste, and she had thrown the words out of her mouth with haste.

She felt him move behind her, and felt him hug her from behind. He kissed her neck lightly, squeezing her whole body against his.

“Are you all right ?”

“I'm okay.”

She took a deep breath, praying for Tyrion to be okay, and shook it off. She turned around to face Oberyn, still seating, pushing him sweetly back on the bed with one hand.

“Although I've been told you're not listening to your doctors.”

She tried to frown, tried to stay in character, but he laughed too heartily to ignore, and she found herself smiling a little.

“You try and stay in bed for days on end. You'll end up like me, begging to get up.”

“That's not funny. I need you back in King's Landing.”

“Exactly ! What's the point in staying in this bed when I could stay in yours ?”

“The point is getting better. You're not getting into my bed until you're healed.”

“I am healed, little wolf. See ?”

He pushed the cover away, and took his shirt off to show her his new scar. It was red, and a little swollen, and it was definitely ugly, but that was partly her fault, and she pursed her lips. With one finger, she traced it lightly, and had to stifle a smile as she felt his shiver under her touch.

“It's only a little pain, and I'll wager I'll have it for as long as I live. Rest, now. I am healed.”

But Alayne still wasn't convinced. She had opened her mouth to protest when he lunged up at her to kiss her, circling her with his arms She was surprised, she was delighted, and a little cry of joy left her lips without her consent, making Oberyn chuckle. His palms were on her cheeks, and he pulled her in with him as he fell back to the mattress. They kissed for a minute, in a slow, tender way that had Alayne falling through stars, before resting against each other, beaming, taking comfort in each other's presence. She fell back to sleep soon after that, safely nuzzled in his arms, and she dreamt of Lady, running through her Winterfell's forests, and of Robb chasing her, but it was young Robb, boy Robb, unlike all other dreams of him. The three of them – she couldn't see herself, but there was a flash of Tully red on the trees, reflected in the leaves – were going towards the house, laughing and chasing after warmth, but the house was never getting closer. They laughed still, and Alayne woke with a start, Robb's laugh clinging to her.

Oberyn was sitting on the edge of the bed, Ellaria standing by his side. There was a nurse fussing over him, fast but precise, and they were engaged in quiet conversation about how he was feeling. Alayne tried not to rouse attention, but Oberyn and Ellaria must have heard her anyway, as they sharply turned to her as she sat up. They were both grinning at her, and Alayne almost blushed, looking away with a vague smile on her lips.

She felt like she should not be here, like she was an intruder, and, as she started to stand up, her mind focused on fleeing, she heard protests from Oberyn.

“Where are you going ?”

 _Think fast._ “Food. I'm hungry.”

There was a look between Oberyn and Ellaria as Alayne got up and started to walk. Ellaria joined her and linked her arms together.

“Let's go have lunch, just the two of us, then.”

She was smiling sweetly, and she lead her to the kitchens, joking and chatting away the steps, making Alayne feel as light as she dared. They asked for trays of cold meat and various salads to be brought outside, with Dornish Red and cool water, and Ellaria once again lead Alayne down one of the gardens, away from the ponds and natural pools in which the children played despite the heat and the fish, under artificial domes made with deep green hedges and low trees. She felt cooler in the shade, but the warmth still clung to Alayne who, even though she had been living in King's Landing for years now, was yet unaccustomed to the heat. Even now, she longed for Summer snows. Ellaria settled opposite her, facing the house, and she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, giving Alayne a few seconds to collect herself for the conversation she knew was coming and would not be pleasant. She enjoyed the birds' song and the ocean's music, enjoyed the quiet everyone seemed to have here - when she wasn't there to bring bad news, at least -, until the food was brought and they could start to eat. From what Alayne knew of the South, it could be a hard place, maybe harder that the North, but life in this house was nothing but peaceful, and she was left wondering how it could ever have produced a man like Oberyn.

Ellaria tried to steer their conversation towards her children's childhood here, answering Alayne's unasked questions, telling her about school, about her four daughters' worship of their father. She was as open and honest as she could be with a stranger, but Alayne felt ill at ease. She knew Ellaria's point was approaching, and she knew she would be fidgety until it was out in the open. But the Dornishwoman was waiting for the end of the their meal, until Alayne had relaxed a little, until they were both ready to have a conversation neither really wanted to have. But when Alayne pushed her plate away, barely touched, staring at Ellaria, this one sighed and pushed her own plate as well.

“I cannot stay here, can I ?” Alayne asked softly before the older woman could speak.

She saw her jump and frown. “Yes, you can. Why would you ask that, little girl ?”

“It's in the way you look at me. You want to tell me something, something I might not like.”

“I do have something I want to ask, but it isn't to tell you to leave. Oberyn would slay us in our beds if we were to escort you out.” she chuckled, trying to defuse the tension. Alayne was still waiting, though, struggling not to pick up the knife laying next to her plate, just in case.

 _You're becoming paranoiac_ , she thought to herself, _and you need to calm down_. She breathed, deeply, in and out, before she went back to looking at Ellaria.

“Sansa, are you really determined to kill the prince ?”

This was not the question Alayne was expecting, and she frowned. “Yes, I am.”

“You are so young. You shouldn't be -” There was a sadness in her eyes, something that gave Alayne a punch in the gut. _She was worried_. “Almost eighteen. You should be going to college, crying about boys. Not plotting to kill.”

Alayne looked at her, really looked, the way she was sitting, the words she chose. She sounded like a mother, acted like a mother. But she knew nothing, and her compassion and her worry ultimately meant nothing. 

“If I don't do this, it will eat at me for the rest of my life. No one will ever make him stop, and he will continue hurting young girls, one after another, in all impunity. I cannot let him. I will not let him.”

“Let somebody else stop him. Please.”

“Who ?” Alayne leaned towards Ellaria. “Oberyn ?” She stared into the other woman's eyes. “Oberyn has taken a bullet for his sister. He will not take one for me.”

She watched as Ellaria nodded slowly.

“Once you do this, though, there is no going back. Doran will not accept you here, not anymore. Not after you have killed the prince.”

“Not after I have become a liability instead of an advantage.”

Even if she had not seen it coming, Alayne couldn't say she was surprised by the declaration. It didn't affect her decision, however. She shrugged.

“I won't come back then. Provided I make it out of King's Landing alive.”

“Where will you go, Sansa ? Who will you turn to ?”

Alayne thought about going back home, going back to Winterfell; but there were only ruins waiting for her there, nothing but charred lands and memories. Her family was dead, and her home now belonged to men she had grown up distrusting. There would be no future in the North for her.

Find Tyrion, then ? Spend the rest of their lives as fugitives of the law, going from one city to the next ? She wasn't sure she could be the Sansa Tyrion wanted her to be, believed she should be. She wouldn't make him happy, would she ? She sighed.

“I don't know, Ellaria. I'm not even sure I will still be alive when it is all over.”

She had never told anyone this, but she knew it to be as true as her determination to kill Joffrey. She would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, nothing. She could tell that Ellaria was seeing it in her eyes, as she was visibly shivering, despite the heat, despite the sun.

“Please, Sansa. Let somebody else do it for you.”

“No.” There was no hesitation, no question. She would be the one to kill Joffrey. No matter the consequences.

Ellaria was staring softly into Alayne's eyes, the hardness she saw disconcerting her. She moved onto the house, watching as life and noise emanated from it without filters, while Alayne looked over at the ocean, ever moving, watching the waves break on land and against rock.

“I want to help you, Sansa -”

The whisper almost went over her head, but she caught the worry under it, the familiar feeling of being cared for. And it wasn't that she didn't need it, that she didn't want it, on the contrary; but it had become so foreign to her that she distrusted the intention.

“But you can't.” She tilted her head. “Why are you so eager to let Oberyn kill Joffrey ?”

“He wants to do it for you. He would be protected by his name.”

“Oberyn has been his father's weapon and his brother's for too long, now. He will not become mine.”

Alayne stood up abruptly, and Ellaria followed her movements with a lopsided smile on her face. Before she left, Alayne turned to the other woman, grimacing.

“If someone had killed your family, your four daughters and the man you love, would you let them just - go ? Watch them live their lives, even as they had robbed your family of theirs ? Or would you fight, tooth and nail, to hurt as they have been hurt ?" Alayne was glaring, unable to stop herself. "If you were left all alone in this world, would you simply let it go ?”

“You are not alone any more.”

Alayne tried to smile, but somehow her lips felt like lead as Ellaria went on.

“If you die killing Joffrey, Oberyn will seek vengeance for you. And if he dies, his Snakes will seek vengeance for him. And if they die, others will take their place. When does it end ? Is that how it goes, round and round forever?"

“It's human nature. Blood calls for blood.” Alayne shrugged. “I am nothing if not human.”

She cast a last look at Ellaria, whose face was ashen in the shade, and went back to the house, looking for Oberyn's room. She calmed herself down and half faked a smile before going in, though, reminding herself that she may be asked to leave soon, and that those hours, maybe days, would be the only time she'd spend with him for a while. She was unsure if she should knock or not, and eventually chose to, making Oberyn laugh on the other side of the door.

“Little wolf.” she heard him call, restoring good humour in her. She came in smiling.

“How did you know it was me ?”

“We don't really knock here. It had to be you.” He closed and pushed the laptop he had on him, gesturing her to come forward.

“The things people here have seen.” she laughed, climbing on the bed and on his lap in a few moves, faking a shudder.

He kissed her nose, his hands coming to rest on her hips, sending electricity through her body, even with fabric between fingers and skin. She had missed it, missed him, missed the way she felt when around him, confident and powerful. “I'm sure you all still have nightmares.”

“Sex is a natural thing, my wolf. Nothing to be embarrassed about. My father used to say that if you felt embarrassed doing something, it's because you know you shouldn't be doing it.”

Alayne giggled. “Your children agree ?”

“They know not to come into my room if they don't want to see me naked.”

“As if you keep the shenanigans to your room only.” Alayne arched an eyebrow, and was met by Oberyn's laugh, the one she adored, when his whole body came alive with glee.

“That is very true.”

“Have they really seen you naked, though ? Your children ?”

His fingers were drawing small circles on the small of her back, and he smiled as he kissed her chin.

“Some, yes.” Alayne wrinkled her nose. “We all have the same body, wolf. Legs and hips and chest and head. Basic anatomy.”

“Still. I wouldn't want to see my father naked !” she exclaim, making Oberyn laugh again.

“No one is asking you to look. My children don't, they simply look elsewhere.” He kissed her neck, nibbling at it playfully. “My little prude of a girl.”

“I'm not a prude ! I only like boundaries.”

Oberyn said nothing, and he went on kissed down her neck to her exposed shoulder. Alayne shivered faintly.

“Have you seen them naked ?”

“When they were very little, yes.”

He pulled away from her to look into her eyes for a second, before he lifted an eyebrow.

“You know who I _haven't_ yet seen naked ?”

“Who ?” she asked, knots of desire forming in her stomach. He was staring at her the same way he used to, in the very beginning; his eyes black, his posture predatory.

“You.” He lifted her hips without warning, using her surprise to push her down the bed. “I think I shall remedy that now.”

He moved above her as quick as a cat, his lips on hers, devouring hungrily as Alayne grasped at his shoulders, thinking that if she didn't cling so hard, she would fall; his fingers gathering the thin fabric of her dress up in his fists, revealing her naked legs and stomach. He was pushing down on her one minute, and she frantically swayed her pelvis against his; the next minute, he was towering above her, leaving her dress just over her chest, kissing up and down her stomach, biting and sucking, and Alayne was moaning and yelping. Everything was forgotten, everyone out of her mind, no one and nothing mattered except the man who making her feel so lovely, so warm. He was magic, his kiss, his touch, she was floating above clouds and he was trailing bright red marks on her milky skin. She arched her back, trying to get him so much closer, and she felt his chuckles on her skin, responding to her need by kissing her lower, and lower.

“Oberyn-” she breathed, her hands flying from his shoulders to his dark, unruly hair.

He was opening her legs softly with both hands, his palms on her inner thighs, sending electricity up her spine, involuntarily spreading them as a response. He smirked against her skin, moving down to her thighs, kissing the soft skin, brutally ignoring the one spot she, desperately, wanted him to kiss and tease and caress. She moaned with dissatisfaction, pleasure bubbling up inside, and she curled the fingers of one hand around the bed linen as he took his time moving down, then up each of her thighs. She knew, she could tell, that he was glad to make her wait.

She would have to wait longer, though, as a voice outside the door disrupted them.

“Jaime Lannister is here. Doran wants you to come and greet him.”

Oberyn cursed under his breath, planted one last kiss on Alayne's thigh and sat up.

“I'm sorry, little wolf, but I fear we may have to stop there.”

She pouted, more for his amusement than out of disappointment. “Tell Jaime Lannister that he has the worst timing.”

He laughed, extending one hand to help her up. “Wait for me ?”

 _He agrees_ , Alayne thought to herself, nodding. _Jaime Lannister can't see me here; even if he might not know who I am, there's a chance a might recognize Sansa Stark_. “I'll go hide in the closet.” she quipped, grinning.

He laughed, and kissed her lips before getting up. “How do I look ?”

“Not at all recovering from an injury. Utterly fuckable.”

He left the room howling with amusement, leaving Alayne to compose herself before she got out as well. She found her way back to the yellow room, the room she had occupied the last time she had been here, losing her way once or twice. She used her time alone winding down, setting the tv on low volume as she stretched in front of the news. It didn't seem as though she'd be hitting the gym for a while, and she would need to stay as pliable and flexible as she could until she'd go back. And since she wanted to see what exactly the media did and didn't know about Tyrion and the murder, she'd thought she'd combine the two.

They kept replaying the morning's press conference, tried to act as though they were seriously investigating when they had little to nothing to go on, speculating as to what had really happened in that room when Tywin was shot, playing old footage of the Lannisters. She wondered, faintly, how Joffrey had taken the news of his grandfather dying, if he had cared, if he had been angry. If he had been human enough to have any emotion.

When the incessant rant of the different news anchors had started exasperating her, Alayne had turned the tv off, and had shed her clothes on the way to the bathroom to take a shower. She set the water on cool temperatures and lost herself beneath the sprays. The soaps smelled like sunshine as she lathered her skin with them, oblivious to the world outside the shower stall. She came out of the shower refreshed and ready to tackle the world, and out of the bathroom half naked, with only panties and a long shirt knotted around her neck. The sun was setting, but she was no longer alone in the room. Oberyn was laying on the bed, a book open on his face, to hide from any light, his body tense.

She came in chuckling. “Does the patient need me to walk him back to his room ?”

“No need, I'm sleeping here tonight.” he answered, without moving the book.

“Are you now ?”

Alayne climbed onto the bed, next to him, and giggled like a schoolgirl when Oberyn suddenly threw the book away, rolling on top of her. He had his two hands pinned on either side of her face, staring at her with mischief in his eyes.

“You wouldn't throw the man of your dreams out on his ass, would you ?”

“I'll tell you after I meet him.” she joked, arching an eyebrow.

“You are a wicked little girl.”

Oberyn reached down to bite her shoulder, softly, and she yelped in fake pain. She pretended to pout until he kissed her face as though he was pecking at it. She tried to wriggle her way free, and Oberyn took advantage of it to roll over on his back, and take her with him. She ended up on top of him, a leg on each side, her hair falling down her shoulders and her face, like a halo.

“Speaking of mean little girls, what did Jaime want ?”

Oberyn gathered all her hair on one side of her face with one hand, the other already pulling her shirt up. “To check if we were hiding criminals in our cupboards.”

“See, this is why I chose the closet.”

They both chuckled. It was nice to feel this connection again, Alayne thought, so lovely to finally be herself again without fear or apprehension. She was reminded of Ellaria's question earlier, what she would do once all of this was over. Right here, right now, she wished the answer had been simple : run away with Oberyn. Hide away on his private island for the rest of their lives. To be like this, fooling around with each other, living happily ever after. The only problem with this idea was that they wouldn't last a week; they would tear each other apart due to boredom.

And, just like this, on her knees and above him, completely at his mercy and happy to be, she realized that their relationship had an expiration date, that they were headed for heartache.

_She didn't want it to end._

Oberyn must have sensed something was wrong, as he propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Alayne.

“Are you all right, little wolf ?”

More than anything, she wanted to be told that everything was going to be okay, that she would be safe. But it was too late for that now, and she didn't want Oberyn to know that.

“You said criminals. Plural.”

Oberyn sighed. “They think Arys helped Tyrion escape.”

“Oh, shit.” Alayne closed her eyes for a second, her heart stopping. “That's my fault.”

“No.” He kissed her nose gently, before pushing her back so that they could both sit. He looked at her right in the eye, waited until she met his gaze to continue. “Arys made a choice. Trust me, my little wolf, he's very happy with it.”

She nodded, pulled in for a hug that warmed her bones. She could tell by his attitude that Oberyn, too, knew that they were not going to have a happily ever after, that their days were counted; it was hard for either of them to let go. The atmosphere turned bittersweet between them, even as they held each other tight, and when Oberyn pulled away to look at her, she saw the flash of sadness he was trying to hide behind his trademark grin.

She slid her palms around his neck and straightened up to kiss him. It was sweet, at least at first, maybe a little shy; they were testing boundaries. They had said, over and over again, that they should wait until their revenge was complete, until they were free, finally, utterly free, and they could take their time exploring and discovering- But the closer they got, the clearer the message was : they simply just would not have that kind of time. And so now they were rushing, sprinting towards an end that might satisfy both and neither of them, and Alayne was scrambling to take off his clothes, and Oberyn was too brash against her lips, pushing her down. Just this afternoon, he infuriated her by his slow pace, but Jaime had changed all of that. Alayne needed to go back to King's Landing, at least in Doran's mind, she had become trouble. And they were out of time. Now, now they were frantic, and Alayne felt like a cat in heat, spreading her legs on either side of Oberyn's thighs, and his hands were pressing so hard into her hips, kissing, panting, bodies so close that Alayne thought she would overheat at any moment. But no, she was pinned there, under him, her mind so alert to every movement he made. He was taking off her shirt, and his fingers had brushed against her sides, and his lips were playing with her nipples, and she was moaning, wishing for more, her underwear definitely wet. Oberyn knew it, how could he not ? The effect he had on her was undeniable, and he was sliding down, to her belly, red with his earlier attentions, to her thighs, and then, taking one look at her, flushed cheeks and rapt face, stripped her of her panties.

There she was, finally, gloriously naked in front of him. Oberyn took another look at her, her whole body, grinning, and she was struggling to keep quiet. She wanted to beg, beg for more, for him to kiss her again, and not just look, she wanted to arch her back and offer him everything, knowing that she would be safe under his stare, and she wanted to embrace all those new sensations, all that pleasure slowly building up, and she wanted the release, but when ? When ? _Please_ , she wanted to beg, _more, now, please,_ but all her thoughts were scrambled.

And when he finally decided to keep going, she felt him smile against her skin, felt him mark her with his tongue, whispering as he licked, and lapped, and teased, taking his time, infuriating her.

“ **Mine, mine, mine.” _Yes_ , she thought, _yours, yours, yours_. **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me at the moment ? ;-)  
> I hope you guys liked this chapter. Only two more to go !


	14. Fruition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so long to put on paper - so to speak - and I'm very sorry about it. But there were so many ideas running through my heads, so many first drafts that didn't seem quite right, and then there was the matter of the blank page syndrome, except that the page was filled, but I had no idea how to finish this chapter.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it, though, and I'm off to start the final chapter !

Alayne was restless, having been confined to the Water Gardens for more than two weeks now, cut from the capital as it had closed its gates to the general population, trapping its inhabitants in, trapping her out. She missed the constant noise of the city, if only because this house, this village, was so quiet and calm that it made Alayne want to fill it with something else. She couldn't stand it, this constant absence of noise; even with kids everywhere, playing and shouting, there was no escaping this awful silence, this nerve-wrecking calm, and Alayne couldn't elude her thoughts any longer. She wanted to yell, she wanted to fight, she wanted to start smashing things around just to hear them break and echo through the walls. She missed the noise. She felt like a wolf in a cage, irritable and unpredictable, and there was no telling when she would snap. She was too irritable to be presentable, and so she avoided everyone – she did not want to ruffle any feathers – except for Oberyn and his two eldest daughters, Obara and Nymeria, with whom she fought under the pretence of training. She loved the fights, mainly because they lifted the silence and allowed her to step out of her own head, but also because she could get to push her own limits farther than she ever could before, and she studied eagerly under them both. Nymeria in particular seemed to like training with the Northerner, as she said to her one night, when they had finished brawling :

“You are not very skilled, Alayne, but your are fast. You are vicious. I like that.”

It had made her chuckle, then. It made her think, now. _Vicious._

That was an ugly word, a word she had once reserved for horrible, despicable human beings. Joffrey was vicious. Tywin had been vicious. And now herself. She closed her eyes, sighed. Soft, sweet smelling Sansa; that had been how people viewed her, then. It was fast, vicious Alayne, now. How the times had changed. She would cry about it, cry about losing herself so profoundly that she had come up a whole different person, if she were not so satisfied with herself. Who did she have to be soft for, now ? Her family was gone, there was no changing that, and the world around her was so cruel that, had she not changed so, it would have devoured her whole. Vicious was fine. Vicious would bring her Joffrey's head.

Nights were no different than days, however. Alayne would toss and turn in her own bed, tired but unable to sleep, and she would inexorably end up in the one place she knew someone would fill the silence for her : Oberyn's room. At first, she had been reluctant to go in in the middle of the night, especially because he was very seldom alone – Ellaria and he seemed to be inseparable – but, after a few nights, she noticed that he increasingly was alone, and she promptly slipped in bed next to him.

Sometimes, he would wake as soon as Alayne came in, sometimes she had to kiss him awake; but the result was the same almost every night. She wanted distraction, any kind of distraction; and he gave her everything that he had. His desire burned her from the inside out, filling her out with the fire she always feared to lose, and he made her enjoy her trap, if only for a few moments. He gave her bruised lips and sore thighs, he gave her rush after rush as she lost all sense of reality, and, most importantly, he gave her freedom from the thoughts that were plaguing her all through the day. That, too, was something Sansa would have never, ever done : using people. It was almost she knew how to do now. The only thing that she was good at.

She'd sleep in Oberyn's arms for a few hours, but with the rise of day her doubts came back, gnawing at her from the inside out, and she was drowning them under the shower, beating them at the gym.

“What now ? What next ? What are you doing ? Are you really going to kill Joffrey ? Vicious little girl, playing grown-up, playing like you belong, but you don't belong, do you ? Tyrion left, good riddance. You don't even miss him, do you ? Vicious. Vicious, vicious, vicious. Come to think of it, you don't even like Oberyn any more. You had what you wanted from him. He doesn't call you little wolf any longer, have you noticed ? He doesn't even want to spend time with you, only happy to fuck you in the middle of the night, doesn't even care it's you. Why would he ? You're not even human any more. You're just a vicious wolf who's gonna get itself killed.”

_Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up !_

And she would hit harder, run faster, fingers itching for a real target, a real person to hit, and soon she would have Joffrey, and soon she would beat him, and maybe, maybe, this rage would go, maybe she would be soft again. Maybe all the rough edges would be taken off of her.

 

That particular morning, after Alayne had spent a spectacularly bad night – she had dreamt her thoughts in the shape of her mother, disapproving and disappointed -, and as she was standing with her feet licked by ocean waves, trying to decide whether she should tell anyone about what she was experiencing, Oberyn came to her quietly, a sparkle in his eye betraying his mood.

“Alayne.”

 _Little wolf, little wolf, little wolf._ “Oberyn. What can I do for you ?”

“It's more what I can do for you.”

Alayne turned to him, frowning, but he was smirking.

“I found us a way back into King's Landing.”

“How ?”

He produced a small envelope from his pocket, still smiling, and made a show of opening it and reading the letter inside after having cleared his throat.

“Prince Joffrey and his family have the immense honour of inviting you and a guest of your choice to their annual masquerade ball, held for the Queen's birthday.”

 _A ball ?_ Alayne's frown turned into raised eyebrows. Oberyn was almost laughing, but she was simply just dumbfounded.

“Tywin died two weeks ago.” Alayne stated.

“Yes.”

“And their youngest brother is the sole suspect.” she continued.

“Yes.”

“And they're hosting a ball ?!”

“A _masquerade_ ball.” Alayne rolled her eyes, and this time, Oberyn laughed out loud. “Welcome to High Society, Alayne. A magical place where we pretend like nothing's ever wrong.”

She nodded, more to herself than for his benefit, already staring back ahead, back into her own head.

“So what next, Alayne ? What do you want to do ?”

She blinked, startled. “With what ?”

“With this.” Oberyn waved the envelope. “What do you want to do with the opportunity ? Get Joffrey alone, slit his throat, leave hastily ? Is it torture ? Interrogation ? Do you want an apology, do you want to watch him suffer ?”

The thing with Oberyn, she had started to notice, was that he was always up for anything. There was no disgust in his voice, just an interest she didn't understand. He was enjoying the thought of bloodshed, the notion of terror, that they would be the villains in this particular story. What would she enjoy, though ? She was thinking about it, long and hard, watching the waves roll in their direction, Oberyn still staring at her. She shivered. Did she want to become the villain ? Oberyn was moving, holding her tight, the both of them looking at the vast ocean, his breath in her ear.

“Tell me what you want, anything, and I will do it for you.”

She closed her eyes. What did she want ? She wanted it to end. No more Joffrey. No more pain. She wanted to see her family again. Robb, Robb, she wanted Robb to hold her, she wanted the ocean to turn into a snowy forest, she wanted to rid this world of the people that liked to hurt other people for their own amusement, for their own personal gain. She wanted so many things that it hurt to think about them.

“We kill them all.” she ended up whispering, and she felt Oberyn shiver. “Burn their house to the ground. We'll make it rain fire and blood, like the Targaryens of old.” she let out a shaky breath. “All the Lannisters, all those who work for them, all those who like to pretend like nothing's ever wrong. We burn them all, and we start anew.”

“Down with our future King ?”

“He won't care. He'll have a bullet in his brain before he burns. If anything, he's lucky.”

“You don't want to watch him burn ? Hear him yell ?”

“I want to see him dead.”

She felt Oberyn nod. “Your desire, my command, little wolf.”

She smiled, unable to stop herself, and turned to face him. Their mouths crashed against each other easily, Alayne almost at peace with her decision, Oberyn clearly happy about the plan. He was pushing against her and pulling her towards him, and they were lost to the world for a few hours. He took her to a small cabin on the length of the beach, hoisting her up on his hips, and he took her against the wooden walls, not even bothering to take clothes off. Alayne's pain turned into pleasure, then back into pain as he forgot how new at this she was, and she yelped with pain as she came, but she couldn't care, she'd do it again, she wanted to do it again, because he called her little wolf, because she was not alone, because she was definitely out of her head. She begged him not to stop, never to stop, and his cock gave way to his fingers, softer and deft, and she came again so easily.

“After all of this is over,” he was whispering onto her neck, enjoying the way she shuddered and bent under his voice, “I'll take you back to the island, and there will be no more rushing, no more middle of the night quickies. I'll teach you everything I know about pleasure. I promise.”

Alayne was sure she'd have responded if she hadn't forgotten how to speak.

 

 

That night, as Alayne lay half-asleep in her own bed, dreaming of the northern lights and of the way they use to shine, it was Oberyn who crept silently in her room to wake her up. He kissed her on the nape of her neck, nudging her gently but firmly, waited until she turned around.

“I talked to Doran. He agrees. We poison them all.”

Alayne blinked, trying to reconcile dream with reality, while Oberyn smirked at her. “Okay.”

“Ellaria thinks you're insane, though.” His smile grew wider.

She shrugged. “She might be right.”

Alayne wasn't sure if Oberyn had heard her, as he kept talking, revealing to her the plan that they had come up with during dinner. The thought almost made her chuckle; two grown men talking murder over food, as though nothing were more common, more simple. Had she not been an accessory to their plan, had she married Joffrey and been his queen, there was no telling what the Martells might have done to her. After all, she would have been the heir's wife, she would have borne him sons. They could have taken her in revenge for Elia, and her life would most likely have ended the same way as hers had; tragically, and victim to plots she could have never understood. But Oberyn was there, in her bed, and he was excitedly chatting about properties of that and that poison, and Alayne felt so completely detached, so incredibly tired. She sighed, sitting up.

“Poison at a high society event.” she interrupted him. “They'll smell us coming from a mile away.”

“They're not going to expect it from us.” Oberyn arched an eyebrow, a smile fixed on his lips.

“Really ? They're not gonna expect it from the murderer and the whore ?”

“Not if we drink from the same bottle.”

Alayne frowned, and Oberyn kissed her nose before he explained. “Tyene has been working on antidotes from various poisons. We'll take some before we go in, and we're safe.”

“Okay.” she studied Oberyn's eyes, still sparkling from trepidation.

“While you play with Joffrey however you see fit, I'll make a toast for Queen Cersei with an exceptional Dornish wine. They all drink, they all die.” Oberyn slid closer to her. “That's what you want, isn't it ?”

“What I want -” She considered it for a moment, looking away for a while before turning back to the man in her bed. “What I want is for my family not to be dead. For your sister, for her children, not to be dead. But that won't ever happen, will it ?” She sighed, suddenly exhausted, and sadder than she had felt in a long time. “So we kill all those who had a hand in our pain, those who have made sure that we never see the ones we love ever again. And we kill all those who turned their heads and pretended not to see. We kill those who like to pretend like the Starks never lived, and like Elia Martell's children were never born. That may not be what I want, but this is what were going to do.”

Without any other words, Alayne turned her back to Oberyn, sliding back between the covers, shivering despite the warmth of the room, and she closed her eyes.

  
  


To get to Lannister Palace, Oberyn and Alayne's car had had to cross six different checkpoints disseminated throughout the city and its outskirts, even with the Martell banner on the hood of the sleek, black car they were using. Oberyn kept her hand in his for the whole trip, making sure that she remembered the exact details of the plan - something that Alayne found wholly unnecessary, since she would be alone with Joffrey for most of it – and filling the silence with innocent remarks about what they would do and the places they would visit once the night would be done and over with. Alayne would have loved to shut him up by climbing on his lap and kiss his pretty little lips shut, but one, her lips were a deep burgundy, and two, her dress was too constricting to allow her to make such movements. So in the end, she decided to let him speak if it could appease him, and she only feigned polite interest when it was required of her, falling back into silence and thought when she could.

If truth be told, Alayne had no idea of what she would do once her task was complete, and Joffrey killed. For the last three years, all her energy had been focused on a plan to get here, to get to tonight, to fulfil what she had set herself to do. What happens next was inconceivable, so far away from her mind that she was surprised Oberyn, of all people, would be thinking about it. All of that being said, however, she knew, from the bottom of her heart, that if she did gain a future tonight, she would not be spending all of it with the man holding her hand. She adored Oberyn, she couldn't ignore that fact; but an idle Oberyn was a bloodthirsty Oberyn, an animal trapped in a cage, just as she had been for the past few weeks. They were more likely to kill each other than to love each other - which meant that she would need to find another home, another family; Alayne quite simply had no energy for that. So she said nothing as he droned on about their vacations to come, squeezed his hand when she felt a surge of love towards the man who was helping her accomplish everything, and smiled at him when he looked at her. She owed him that much.

“We're here.”

In the front seat, the driver looked nervous. Outside, the outline of the palace was growing as they drove, gorgeous under the moonlight and the fairy lights, and Alayne felt a rush of anxiety overcome her, clogging her breathing, making her shake. What if Joffrey saw right through them ? Through her ? What if she got back to the red room, but not on her own terms ? Her stomach was in knots, despite Oberyn's gentle reassurances that their plan was bulletproof, that she could do it, that she could kill Joffrey. But, if anything, she was a fighter, a survivor; and she gave herself until the car halted to freak out, silently, violently. Once the car stopped, Alayne was safely hidden under a mask of disdainful boredom, a calm, cool, composed mask of her making, with her masquerade mask above it. More than anything, she was ready to be done with it.

She got out of the car as a seasoned socialite, a woman of strength used to the lifestyle of the rich and the powerful, and she got through the door sure of herself. Oberyn was right next to her, all charms and accessibility, the exact opposite of her own character; and everyone greeted him as an old friend while they ignored her. They were almost very unfashionably late, and the party was in full swing; Jaime and Cersei were greeting their guests as they came up to them, Myrcella and Tommen laughing with the younger guests. Joffrey, however, was nowhere to be found yet. She left Oberyn's side as Cersei saw him, beckoning to come see her, and started navigating the different rooms available to the guests. Her former clients were all there, poorly hidden under black masks, and many of her former colleagues accompanied them; it made Alayne chuckle to see them here tonight at a fancy ball. She quickly moved on from them, though, looking for cameras, security guards, anything that might stand between her and Joffrey, who was still nowhere to be found. She hoped and prayed to the Gods that he was not with a poor, unsuspecting girl, taking her to the one place she knew he'd be dying to take her, as she moved across the ball room and the two adjoining rooms surrounding it, searching and scanning the room as discreetly as she knew how. There were dancers, there were couples leaving for the garden, there were drunkards laughing and their wives standing next to them with surly expressions; but there was no blond prince. There was, however, a man she recognized, a man whom everyone steered clear of as he took some wine and disappeared. She followed him to the outside, catching up to him as he was about to drink.

“Good evening.”

“Bird.” He was surprised, crossed, frowning. “What the fuck are you doing here ?”

Alayne had thought that, after the way they had last met, the Hound would have been sent away, maybe even killed, but he was still here, and, somehow, she was relieved to see him. She smiled up at him.

“You saved me. Twice. I don't know why, and I don't think I want to know. But you saved me. Tonight, I want to save you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Save _me_ ?”

In the pale candlelight, Sandor Clegane was more impressive than she had ever saw him, even considering the times she had seen him almost drenched in blood, even after seeing him furious, even after seeing him drunk. The small flames were dancing on his face, highlighting his scars, and Alayne felt a surge of sadness. She couldn't say that she very much liked this man; in truth, he frightened her more than she admitted, but he had been, in his own, tortured way, her protector. And, after tonight, she'd never see him again. She fought the urge to hug him – he would probably have thought she was attacking him somehow - and nodded.

“Joffrey's red room.”

He was silent, studying her to see if she were joking, and she grabbed his wrist, stepping closer.

“I need you to go see if anyone is in there. Any girls that need saving. Take them with you, I have a friend who will help. Use the domestics' entrance, leave, run. Don't look back. Don't come back. Just run.”

“Bird, what _the fuck_ are you doing here ?” he repeated.

This time, he had gotten closer, almost too close for comfort, and the fire was in his eyes rather than on his face.

“I'm getting what I'm owed, and once I'm done, I'm burning it all down.” she whispered to him. “So please, do as I say. Leave.”

“What if I take you with me ?”

“I'm hoping you won't.”

She let go of his wrist and stepped back a few paces. “Go. Just go.”

She left him behind as she got back inside, trying to keep her emotions under control, showing the guests a plastic smile when they caught her eye. She decided to take to higher ground, broaden her search for Joffrey, ignoring Oberyn as he passed by her, surrounded by Cersei and her so-called friends. He was not her priority, not her goal, and, even though she felt it incredibly awful of her, tonight, he simply didn't matter. She evaded the security guards and found the stairwell leading to the first floor mezzanine, on which she could quietly observe the whole floor.

She saw northern girls with skin as porcelain as her own skin used to be; she saw southern girls dressed in coloured silks, defiant of all rules tonight, she saw Jaime was talking with government officials his golden hand behind his back, his eyes following Cersei around the room; and Myrcella was dancing, Tommen was eating, but still no Joffrey. She would have sighed and cursed, but she had sensed a presence behind her, prompting her to calm down.

“I'm not sure you're allowed on this floor, my lady.”

 _Joffrey_. A wave of nausea hit her as he settled next to her, his back to the crowd. She turned to him, noticing how he had just gotten out of a shower, his black mask dangling from his pocket, his tie loose around his neck. She almost could see herself take the two strands and suffocate him with it, just to get his smug smile off his mouth.

“What can I say ? I have a problem with authority.”

He laughed, turning to her as well. Oberyn's words rang in her head. _Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him_. She had succeeded on other men, seasoned men, surely this boy would be no match for her. She took each strand of his tie in one hand, tying it properly around his neck, using the opportunity to get a little closer.

“Maybe I should punish you.” he chimed, a smirk spreading on one side of his mouth.

Alayne wanted to beat it off of him, make him beg, make him bleed. Instead, though, she looked up in his eyes, noticing how they shone with malice, and decided to play along. She had to get him to his bedroom, away from the Hound, away from the girls. She arched an eyebrow, took another step towards him, waiting for his next move.

“You look like you'd like it.”

 _And you look like I should punch you repeatedly._ Alayne chuckled. “Maybe.”

After a second where Joffrey gawked at her and she tried not to tense up, he offered her his arm.

“Where are we going ?” she inquired.

“Definitely not downstairs.”

He made a show of offering his arm a second time, and she took it with a smile, discreetly checking her thigh for the sedatives she'd use on him if he ended up taking her to the red room. She had hidden them under an opening she had cut through the heavy fabric of the dress, where she could grab them at a moment's notice, where they were invisible to all but those who knew they were there.

  
  


Joffrey was as agreeable as she had ever seen him, casually flirting and joking, the prime example of a prince charming. It was right then that Alayne remembered why she had fallen for him so hard, so fast; how it was that she had convinced her whole family to move south when everyone just wanted to stay home. And, had she not lived through everything that she had, were she still innocent and a stranger to his perversions, she knew it would not be hard to fall for him again. But the ghosts of her family were dancing around her, unyielding, unforgiving, reminding her with every step that he was a monster, that she had a purpose, and that hers was the last face he'd ever see.

He was taking her through corridors she had never seen before, which meant that he would not be taking her to the red room. Alayne knew every turn, every door on the way to that awful place, entrances from the east, the west, and this was just not it. Where was he taking her ? She needed to stay relaxed, needed to not tip him off, and so she laughed, and flirted back, and followed as he walked. After a few other corridors, sharp turns and even a few doors, Alayne found herself in a huge bedroom with a king sized bed opposite the door. She recognized the smell of Joffrey's cologne immediately, though, and realized that she had just stepped into his own bedroom.

He was moving around her, throwing his mask here, taking off his tie there, opening and closing drawers and closets. She, on the other hand, was almost to struck to move around, simply looking around her. Joffrey had never, ever taken Sansa to his bedroom. Not because they had both been repeatedly told not to – Joffrey liked nothing more than to disobey his mother back then -, but because he didn't want her there. Sansa had gradually realized that, while she was head over heels for him and would have done just about anything he'd ask, Joffrey only viewed her as an accessory. A way to make him look better. She was for show, at least she was up until she had decided no more, and her family had decided to go back home.

“Do you like my room ?”

Joffrey's voice thrust her back to reality.

“Very nice, my prince. I'm sure it's very quiet.”

He was laughing in response, his back to her, pouring champagne in glasses; and Alayne used his distraction to lock the door behind her, making sure no one could interrupt them. She stepped out of her shoes to feel a little more comfortable, to be quicker if she needed to be, and was untying her hair when he walked up to her.

“I promise there will be no one to hear you if you scream.” he stated, a lecherous expression on his face he didn't bother trying to hide, holding out a glass for her to take.

“Are you trying to scare me, your Highness ?”

“Maybe.”, he smiled.

She cocked her head sideways, fingers ready around the syringe on her thigh, ignoring the drink; and, before he could speak, she grabbed it and stabbed him in his neck, the needle going all the way to his jugular, pushing the plunger as deep as she could, as fast as she could. As it fell, the two glasses broke, champagne pooling around their feet, and Joffrey's eyes grew wide in surprise.

“Maybe you should be scared of _me_.” she whispered to him before he fell.

  
  


Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and she had to lean against a wall not to fall. She couldn't believe her time had come, that it was finally here, and she felt dizzy, and nauseated. It was crazy to think that it would all be over in a few minutes, that neither Joffrey nor his family nor his henchmen would ever hurt anyone again, that her family would finally be able to move on, clear of any unfinished business. She had done it, or, rather, she was about to. All that was left was simple : pull the trigger.

She allowed herself a minute to breathe, to get her head straight, and then took off her mask. The prince was still on the floor, drooling in the spilled champagne, and, as she grabbed him by the collar to sit him up, heavier than she had imagined he would be.

She sat him against his bed, using his fancy ties – taken in a nearby drawer – to attach each of his wrists to the bedpost, checking a few times that everything was secure, that he could not loosen the knots by himself. It seemed crazy, it was crazy, that she, Sansa, would ever do something like this, it seemed unrealistic and so out of character that she started to giggle uncontrollably. What would her parents say if they knew what she was doing ? What would Robb say ? She knew what Arya would say, though, and if she were there, she'd probably kick him in the crotch while he was out, and maybe a few times when he was awake, too. Thinking about it, her giggles soon became full on laughter that she tried to suppress behind the palm of her hand. She took a big breath to calm down, and took out her phone as she looked around. Arys should be done by now, the red room emptied, and she wanted confirmation before she went on with the plan.

“Is it done ? Is it over ?” she asked as soon as he picked up.

“There's nobody left in the red room except the guards. We've just left with the girls.”

 _Thank the Gods._ “How many were there ?”

“Three, but they're all in fancy dresses, so I'm assuming they were taken tonight.”

“Someone's been a busy bee.” she grunted, then sighed. “Thank you, Arys.”

“Good luck.”

She hung up without saying goodbye, relieved that the girls were not hurt, that they would not be hurt, but angered by the thought that, although they had saved those three, there were countless girls, nameless girls, that no one had saved. How many had Joffrey tortured for his own pleasure, his own amusement ? Did he even know ? She looked around the room, waiting for the boy to wake up, looking for trophies, clues that could have put anyone on his trail, opening closets and drawers, checking for secret stashes and hideaways. Her heart stopped when, as she was taking his night stand apart, she found locks of hair gathered in a small golden box. Ignoring her disgust, she emptied the contents on the floor, counting the strands.

She was about to fall apart crying when she heard a groan : Joffrey was waking up. It took him a long minute to realize what had happened, after which he quickly started to whine and tug on the bedposts he was tied to.

“Help !” he yelled. “Somebody help !”

“I promise there will be no one to hear you if you scream.” she stated to him, using the words he had thrown at her only fifteen minutes prior, slowly getting up and facing him.

He was crying, he was trying to get up, trying to break the posts, looking at her in absolute terror. Alayne had always thought she'd enjoy it, but all she wanted to do was cry, too.

“Do you know who I am ?” she asked, softly. “Do you recognize me ?”

“Please,” he pleaded, begged, “please, don't hurt me.”

“That's funny.” Alayne reached her other thigh, unstrapping the gun that Oberyn had put there earlier, squatting down so that he could see her. “That's what _I_ used to say to _you_. That's what the other girls said, too.”

He frowned, tears running down his cheeks, uncomprehending.

“Do you know who I am ?” she repeated, louder, rage starting to pulse through her veins.

Slowly, very slowly, Joffrey started to nod.

“Say my name.”

He swallowed, fear slurring his speech. “Sansa. You're Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

She sighed, closed her eyes. _Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark, she was Sansa Stark._ She pushed on her feet to get up, taking the security off the gun, just like Oberyn had showed her. Joffrey's cries intensified in response, struggling for breath “Oh please, please.” he whined; but all of it had become background noise to Alayne. She loaded the gun, Joffrey's breath hissing in her ear. She anchored her feet firmly in the ground, Joffrey crying, crying. She put both her hands around the handle, just like Oberyn had taught her, and Joffrey was shouting. It wasn't a human being in her sights, she told herself, only an animal, a predator, something dangerous and disgusting. _Shoot it. Shoot it, shoot it, SHOOT IT !_

The noise, the smell, the stench of it surprised her, even though she had practised firing for hours back in Dorne. The shot rang in her ears and the recoil made her step backwards, and she felt strangely numb. There were noises behind her, a banging on the door, and there was blood seeping from the wound and into the floor. She had aimed for the forehead, had gotten him in the eye, and his entire body was slouching down. Her hand dropped to her side, still holding the gun firmly, and she frowned. She'd done it. It was over. She'd done it.

There was a crack in the door behind her, and she only had the time to turn before the Hound, looking wild, frantic, burst in. He stared at her, then at the body of his former employer, then back at her. She heard him curse, but she was unable to move yet. She'd done it. Her phone was ringing away on the desk across from her, all the way in the back of the room, and it took all her might to go answer it.

“We're ready to barricade the doors, wolf.” Oberyn's voice in her ear felt like honeyed tea. “Are you done ? Do you need me ?”

“I've done it.” she whispered, and watched as the Hound checked Joffrey pulse. “Close the doors.”

“Where are you ?”

“I'm outside, in the garden.” The Hound looked up, frowning. “Close the doors. Leave without me. I've got someone to take me home.”

“Who ?” Even on the phone, she could hear Oberyn's frown, his suspicion.

She glanced down at the gun in her hand. She would have smiled, were she not so damn tired. “A friend. He's taking me home. Go.”

“Are you all right ? Is it really done ?”

“He's dead. He's dead, and it's over, and I'm going home.”

She hung up, tossing the phone aside. The Hound had gotten back up, looking at her, his eyebrows so close together they had melted into one another.

“You should have listened to me.” she told him, before loading the gun again. He took a step forward, but she was too quick for him. She aimed at him.

“I'm going home.” she repeated, smiling. A sudden move. The barrel cold on her temple. The Hound shouting.

“ **I'm going home.” she squeezed the trigger, and everything went black.**

 


	15. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've started this chapter once, then twice, then three times. It still didn't felt right. It took time, and some sweat, and four tries, but here we are : the last chapter. Enjoy !

TYRION

 

It had been five years since his siblings and nephews and niece had died in a horrible fire that had devoured their estate, and left firefighters fighting for days, in vain. In the end, all that had been left was ash and stone, a shadow on the ground, and a police enquiry that had ultimately gone nowhere.

King's landing had rebuilt itself without the Lannisters corrupting the air, poisoning the water; the kingdom had a new leader, a fair leader. Or so it was said, although there were already rumours – but Tyrion had paid no attention to them. In truth, he had long stopped caring about the Kingdom without a King, even though he knew they were still looking for him.

Tyrion didn't regret murdering his father, he did not mourn his sister, nor did he his first nephew; but he missed Jaime sometimes, and he missed Myrcella and Tommen all the time. He wished he had been selfless enough to think about them, to ask that they not be harmed; but he had had only prayed for Sansa, prayed for her to survive, prayed for her to come to him. And, as it was often the case with his prayers, this one had only been half answered.

Sansa _had_ survived, but at what cost ? She had been only half of herself since the accident. Against the doctor's warnings, against all odds, Sansa Stark had woken from her coma, having survived a bullet to the head. Tyrion still didn't know what had really happened that night, if it had been Joffrey shooting her, or if it had been somebody else. All that he knew was that Sandor Clegane had found her and rushed her to the hospital, followed by a raging Oberyn, yelling his way to the doctors. It had been Oberyn who had called him to her bedside when everyone thought she would die, thought she ought to die, and the three of them had waited, day after day, for the impossible to arrive, all the while wishing for the improbable. But she had opened her eyes, and everything had changed. She was far from being saved, though; after that, she had had to go back inside an operating room three times: once to remove the bullet completely, a second time to reduce and stop the swelling in her brain, the third time to assess the damage, fix what could be fixed. Or course, since then, she had had to have a few other surgeries, but theses three had been the ones they had been more concerned about.

As soon as she had been strong enough to be moved, Oberyn had flown them all, including the doctor that had first seen her, to a private clinic in Dorne where she were to receive the best care available in the seven kingdoms. It had taken roughly seven weeks before she was able to stay awake for a few hours at a time, and it was then they had all realized that she had no memory of any of them. There had been no flicker of recognition in her eyes once she had seen him, or the Hound, or even Oberyn. The Doctor had not been surprised, not by this fact anyway; but he had been surprised to learn that she could move her arms and legs, albeit very little.

Over the next few days, they had learned that she was not able to speak, or understand them when they spoke; nor could she form new memories, as she was as frightened of them on day ten as she had been day one. Given time and proper exercises, though, the doctor was almost certain that she would be able to, one day. There was no telling when, though, and there was no telling if he was right. There was only patience, and love, and kindness.

Two years after the incident, two years of rehabilitation homes and hospitals, Oberyn and Tyrion had decided that she would go with him back to the Summer Isles, to the house he had bought himself, but first, Tyrion had been adamant: Sansa needed to go to Winterfell. Everyone had fought him on this, telling him she would catch death, and die up there. But if she were to die, Tyrion had thought, she would die at home. If she lived, then she would live knowing snow, and wind, and the dry cold of the North, knowing that she could go back whenever she pleased, that he would follow her. And so he fought harder, and proclaimed that, with or without their help, he would get her to the North. Oberyn had ended up relenting, but had refused to come along when asked. His brother needed him, he had said, and so did his children. Tyrion didn't fight him on this, even though he could tell the other man was lying, because he was happy to get to be with Sansa alone. Well, almost alone: the doctor was to go with them, just in case. Sansa had said nothing, frowning, as she always did back then, and she had taken Tyrion's hand when he presented it to her, merely sighing.

It was the last time she had seen Oberyn. Unlike Tyrion, who recognized Sansa sitting right there opposite her, Oberyn couldn't see the woman he loved. He called her Alayne when he thought Tyrion couldn't hear, but she never realized he was talking to her. Tyrion had seen the man's heart be broken, but he did nothing. Selfishly, very selfishly, he watched him leave and hope he would never return. So far, he hadn't – and Sansa never mentioned him.

Her memory was not back – the doctors expected it would never come back – but, using of patience and the use of new therapies, she was now able to make new ones. She no longer wondered who the men and women around her were, but, in time, had been able to identify them all. Or so she claimed, because, in truth, they had no way of telling if she could, as she could not – would not ?- speak, and say their names. She simply had regained that flicker of recognition that would spark in her eyes when they spoke to her.

For Tyrion, those first two years were the hardest, and he had been persuaded that she had given up on life. She wouldn't smile, ever, except when she would force one on her lips. But those were rare, and her touch even rarer. When she wasn't in therapy, she would simply look out the window to the sky, lost to all but herself. He caught her staring at him once, fear in her eyes, as he was on the phone, turning away when he glanced up at her, promptly leaving the room after that. Five years after, and he still wasn't sure what had happened that day.

 

They had arrived in Winterfell early an afternoon, and there was almost ten inches of snow on the ground. Sansa's eyes went wide as the sight, and Tyrion had couldn't helped but smile when she had bent over to touch it, recoiling from it with a soundless cry almost immediately. He had concentrated on her, trying not to notice the ruin spreading around them, the shadow of the Starks' house, now nothing more that stone on the ground and frozen soil. He had walked next to her as she explored the ground, her hand in his hand – her initiative, making Tyrion certain coming here had been a genius idea -, royally ignoring her doctor pestering about how she would catch pneumonia if they stayed in this cold for one more minute. But he didn't know Sansa belonged to the North, and he didn't know she would never give it up.

Tyrion had ended asking him to wait in the car, eager to follow Sansa as she walked deeper in the forest. When he turned back to her, though, he noticed that she had gone on without him, and he had to content himself with seeing the back of her coat. He struggled to follow, and she was gaining more ground by the minute, making Tyrion very anxious. He was calling her, letting her know she was losing him, all the while cursing under his breath – damn his short legs ! She ought not have gone far, though, and so he persevered in calling, hoping, quite foolishly, that she would call back.

In the end, he found her before a weirwood tree, its face just opposite her, crying softly, her palm resting on its bark. Even though he had been by her side almost all day every day since she was in the hospital, Tyrion had not seen her cry once. To see it now had been a shock, and it had taken him all that he had not to run up to her to take her in his arms. He had simply put a hand on her shoulder, waiting for the sobs to pass, then asked her if she would be able to find her way back to the car. After a second, she nodded.

“I'm a Southern man,” he said, very softly as though not to disturb the Old Gods. “I'm too cold to stay out here, but you are welcome to. Just come back when you are ready.”

She nodded again, and Tyrion walked away.

It had taken all of his strength, but he knew she needed to be alone for a few minutes. He was even hoping the Old Gods would give her strength, would give her hope. Would get her back to the girl that she was.

Back at the car, the doctor had cursed him over and over, telling him it would be his fault is she got lost and died out there, stating that he would not take an ounce of the blame. Tyrion had gotten so fed up he had almost smacked him, only stopping to remind himself that it would not solve anything, that the man would still be as annoying as he was before the slap. And so he waited, his thoughts drowning the sounds that the other man made, waiting for the girl he loved to come back.

 

 

SANSA

 

Honestly, I don't know why this weird tree made me so emotional. Something about it, though, had made me feel something I have never felt before : home. Was I home ? Was this why Tyrion had insisted we come here ? Is the ruin, out there in the plains, the remnants of my house ? Where I grew up ? Do I even have a home ?

As always, I am plagued with questions I cannot bear myself to ask out loud. I am afraid that once I start, I will never be able to stop. And, frankly, I don't feel like I should.

It's in the way he looks at me sometimes, as though he expects me to break down. I am afraid he would not tell me the truth, even though his love is plastered all over him when he is next to me. Perhaps it is because he loves me that I do not trust him to tell me the truth. But who else am I going to ask ? My doctor is an idiot – I hope we leave him in Dorne when we go to the Summer Isles – and the nurses are just faces. My brain does that sometimes, scrambles people to the point where I can't recognize them, can't even guess who they are. So I smile politely, hoping nobody notices. Between you and me, I am tired of hospitals. I can't wait till I get out of them, permanently. And if this trip goes well, then we are off in the real world. And yet here I am, crying over a tree.

Here's what I know so far – well, actually, here's what they told me : my name is Sansa Stone, I have just turned twenty-one, and two years ago, I was in an accident. I have no family, no friends that they know of, no home. Which, of course, makes no sense. A twenty-one year old with no family, well, it happens. But no friends ? No phone ? No computer ? I am not an idiot. They're hiding things from me. Perhaps it is a kindness. Perhaps, by not being honest, they hope I will change. Perhaps I was a junkie, or a bad person. I don't remember, so anything's possible.

My first memory is that Gods awful hospital room. Oh, how I hate that room. It's not bad, though, it's clean, and spacious, and full of light. But it is never quiet. And I am never alone. I am sure Tyrion watches me sleep sometimes. Otherwise, there is always a nurse, or this one guy who never said his name, and never came in, just smiled at me once from the door, then sat by it. I don't know what they think would happen if they left me alone for a second – all I know is that I can't take a shower or go to the bathroom without somebody by my side.

The pentacle of horror for me was that they had to teach me everything. How to eat, how to pee. How to walk. How to clean myself. Can you imagine a team of doctors teaching a grown woman how to use the toilets ? Nightmare ! Though they have been kind enough to tell me that, before I could make memories – which was news to me, but apparently I had been a full year without being able to remember anything, where my memory would just reset every ten minutes or so – they had to have machines make sure I peed because I couldn't even remember to.

Once they were sure I was half functioning, the therapist said that it was time for me to learn to read, and write. The goal, ultimately, was to see if it could bring back speech. What they didn't know was that speech had came back to me a while ago already. I just didn't want to talk.

Words appeared out of nowhere. Before, they had been just sounds that made no sense. Blended in with the noise of the machines and of the halls. My mind was just blank, all the time. I used to think in colours, and in emotions. I don't really remember well, though, because words came out of nowhere and filled everything. I couldn't understand them all, only a chosen few, but bam ! Here they were. Tyrion was on the phone, and I realized that he was not grunting, but talking. There was no difference before, but there was one now. He saw me stare though, so I quickly looked away before he could realize what had happened. That had been my eureka moment.

Everything started to make sense after that. I mean, my brain still played games with me, but considering they took a bullet out of it and I'm still alive, I've decided not to complain. So I learned to read, and I learned to write, and I learned to count like children do, but still I couldn't speak. It was as though my vocals cords were dead. But, since everyone else did the talking for me, it didn't matter. I could just take my time. If I nodded here and there, nobody minded. I took it upon myself to read the dictionary whenever I could, because I was already starting to be bored with kiddie words such as cat, and home. Not that they aren't useful, but hey, I am a girl with no cat and no home. I need more.

Words were a revelation. A way out. I love words because, if a book falls to the ground because the woman holding it suddenly has a seizure, when you pick them up, they are still here, in the same order as you left them. I love books so much, I understand why Tyrion reads them in bulk. He won't let me read much, though, nor will the doctors. They think it's too big a strain, and that they're why I've been having awful migraines recently. They think I'm going too fast. I think that I've been having migraines because my brain is fried, but what do I know. I've barely learned how not to soil myself, so I'm going to let them be the boss of me for a while longer. At least I'll have my own room soon. Gods, I hope Tyrion won't put his bed next to mine just so he can check if I'm still alive every five minutes. He thinks I don't notice, but I do. And it's getting past the point of cute, too. I should tell him.

Then again, I'm not even sure my vocal cords will agree yet. I mean, I've been practising in the shower – very low so that nobody hears – but I haven't gotten a real word out yet. Only the beginning of one, or the end. Never the whole thing.

When I look up at the tree and see that it's still judging me, I fight the urge to tell it to fuck off. Yes, it makes me feel at home, but it still feels weirdly sanctimonious. By the way, I love that word, sanctimonious. Feels so lavish and fancy. I read it in the dictionary last night. Instead, I chose a word that I'm sure I can get out. One of the very first I've learned. _Home._

I'm sure my sure word ought to have been dad, or mom, but since I have neither, well. Let's go for a word that'll make Tyrion cry when he hears me. I really shouldn't tease him like this, you know, since he's my only friend, but if there is one thing I've discovered about myself is that I am anything but nice. I wonder if I used to be like this. If my brain has retained anything of my former life. But back to my first word.

The first syllable is tricky. The 'h' needs to be aspirated, but the 'o' needs to be pushed out. Or so it says on the pronunciation bit of my brand new dictionary – Tyrion bought it for me when he noticed I was sleeping with a crappy library one, another reason I should be nothing but nice to him -. The 'me' bit will be easier, and this is what I start with. I'm really glad I'm alone in those woods, because a girl repeating 'me' 'me' 'me' to herself really doesn't scream well rounded.

I don't know how long I take, but it feels like an eternity to me. The 'me' comes out, then 'h', then 'o'. All I have left to do is assemble them in the right order. That is actually more work than I thought. I think 'ho', and the 'h' just doesn't sound right. 'me' ends up sounding like 'mi' too much for my taste. 'home' becomes 'mohe', 'hemo', 'hmoe'. I get tired very quickly, and since I am determined to get it out, I get very easily frustrated, too. I take a deep breath, then forget about the 'h'. Ome. Ome, ome, ome. I get it out once, then twice, then I'm crying too much to get anything out at all. I wait until I'm calm to go back to the car, not smiling, not crying, hoping the face tree had stopped judging me, hoping no wolves come out of the woods to eat me.

I don't know why I'm thinking of wolves, but I am. I'm still thinking about them when I find my way back to the car and see Tyrion light up with a proud smile. Not getting lost had been easy this time. I'm really glad he trusted me enough to leave me by myself. Right then, I decide I will reward him.

That night, when it's just the two of us in a really cold room of the hotel we're staying at, Tyrion is wrapped under three blankets, frowning as he reads. I sit down next to him, wait until he looks at me, then smile. “Home.” I say, then put a finger to my mouth to ask him to keep silent, to not tell anyone. I leave him with a bigger smile, then go to bed on the other side of the room. I wonder what he thinks I meant, 'home'. I'm asleep before I can figure it out.

 

 

TYRION

 

On the contrary to what I had previously thought, Sansa did well in the Summer Isles. If it got really sunny or really hot, she couldn't go out during the day, otherwise she would get wicked headaches that kept her in bed for a few days. Sometimes the light hurt her, too, and she still had seizures. But all in all, if she took her medication – which she religiously did, even when he was nowhere around -, she was fine. More than fine, she was alive.

After that one first word that had had Tyrion unable to sleep for days, everything accelerated. Sansa replenished whenever she was out of an hospital room. She read every book that she could find, spent the days she was trapped indoors in the library, and, after five whole years, she finally felt confident enough in her words to hold whole conversations. She didn't talk often though, and sometimes he could still see her flushed over sounds or pronunciation, but Tyrion felt proud. She had done more than well. Even though he wanted no more than just to be beside her at all times, Tyrion had installed her room the farthest from his. He wanted her to understand that he was willing to trust her and her maturity, although he did have some rules. If he called, she had to answer. If she was not feeling well, she had to tell him. And, of course, she had to follow the doctors' orders to the letter.

The doctors had insisted she go back to doing what she was doing before the accident, and so Tyrion had signed her up for ballet classes and piano classes. She also had a tutor that would come twice a week so that she could finish school and get a diploma, if ever one day she decided she wanted to go to university. People lived after traumas, he'd been told, sometimes they lived without consequences. Sansa was a miracle, yes, but he could not keep her in a glass jar all her life. She needed to live, not just survive. She needed options, and he would be damned if he would not give them to her.

 

 

SANSA

 

Every year since we have moved into the Summer House, Tyrion picks two months a year to spend in a cottage in the north of Westeros. Since it is always the same two months, I'm guessing they hold some meaning for him, but so far, he hasn't told me.

I love those two months. I _hate_ the Summer Isles. I hate the sun. I hate the wet wind. I hate the seagulls, I hate the warmth, I hate almost every part of it. But the freedom ? That I could get used to. Ballet classes are extremely hard, especially because I am in a small group. We are six amateur adults and the teacher, which makes me very anxious. I love being taught one on one, and I don't mind being taught with twenty, twenty five other people. But small groups ? They expect me to talk, and laugh, and be a carefree young adult that goes out and has boyfriends and stuff. I don't. I struggle every day to not stumble on my own words, I struggle to keep healthy when all statistics say I am a walking time bomb. I struggle to follow the teacher's directions sometimes, and when everybody goes left, sometimes I go right. I laugh it off, say sorry, but I can see it in their eyes : they think I'm an idiot. I haven't told anyone about what happened to me. I hide it, deep down, so that nobody treats me like I could be contagious. Better be stupid than pitied.

Piano lessons are not much better. I am alone with my teacher, who is the nicest woman anybody will ever meet, but my fingers don't follow my brain. Or, rather, my brain gets it wrong, and send crappy signals to my fingertips. Have you ever wanted to do something and your brain just doesn't seem to get it right ? It's not its fault, but still. Extremely frustrating. We had to spend two weeks on three notes, because I just didn't seem to be able to get them in the right order, or on the right keys. But my teacher never loses her cool or loses her patience. Lately, I've been thinking about stopping ballet and focusing on piano, but I know Tyrion wouldn't agree. Between you and me, I think Tyrion used to love watching me dance, and is not yet ready to see me stop. But everything has changed since then. Dance does not come naturally to me, like it might have once. Or not. But I have enough trouble walking in a straight line, and now I'm being asked to turn on my feet for ten seconds or more, and I'm being ask to bend my body into ways it should not be bent. I'll tell him when we go back. I promise.

Not yet, though. First, I get two months in paradise. Tyrion hates when I say that. Probably because he hates the cold, but I love it to my core. I love the dry wind that hurts my nose and my cheeks. I love the fragile sun that we don't see very often, except on exceptionally good days. I love the snow, oh Gods, do I love the snow. They should have it everywhere. They should made it mandatory.

Tyrion spends two months – well, not quite, but almost – pestering under his breath and inside the cottage, using the free time to read and work on his laptop. Interesting story, by the way : I don't get a laptop – or a phone with the internet – because _they could kill me_. But yeah, leave in the wilderness to fend for myself. Nothing will happen.

But back to the topic. Last year, I spent whole days making castles out of snow, and talking to the trees. The weird tree is still there, by the way. Unchanged. It still makes me feel extremely emotional, but I can't cry without getting a headache. And if I get a headache, I have to stay home. No, thank you. I'm avoiding you, weird tree !

A few days ago, I have found what might just be the awesomest thing : hot pools. Outside. In the middle of no freaking where. It took me three days to build up my courage, but now that I've gone in, I'm never going back out. The South can keep the sea.

But honestly, Tyrion had me thinking the other day. Now that I am somewhat healthy, what am I going to do ? I can't just go on like this forever. I'll be dead with boredom. And, if I am to die, let there be life before. Not just this half life I'm living. But what to do ? The only thing I do well is read. I don't deal with people well, and I certainly cannot keep real hours. I get too tired. And when I get this tired, you can kiss my words and my balance goodbye. AKA, my brain overheats and I faint. Not fun. So what to do with a young woman who has no passion and a hole in her brain ?

Tonight, Tyrion finally relented. I get the laptop – with the internet ! - for a couple of hours. The words 'college classes' worked like a charm. And I really wanted to check out classes, I really did ! Nowhere near the South though. They have a good university at Moat Caitlin, which is funny, considering their town must have two inhabitants. Okay, so I'm exaggerating. Anyway, I start looking, then an ad pops up for a tabloid magazine with bold pink letters. “Is Arya Stark still alive ?”, the magazine asks, and I would have just closed it had Tyrion not shut down the computer with such force that he made me jump.

“Bed.” he stated, and he was so scary that I did not even protest. I went to bed, wondering why. Maybe Tyrion had thought that I was not serious. Maybe he thought that all I wanted to do was look at some trashy magazine. I'll have to say I'm sorry tomorrow. Maybe he'll let me get back on the computer if I explain it to him.

Not only am I not allowed back on the computer, but Tyrion and I have spent the last half hour shouting at each other. He was so mad that he did not even realize that we were shouting, and I was so frustrated with him that I had forgotten to pace myself. I felt that I would get a headache for sure, and so I took aspirin and ibuprofen in prevention while Tyrion showed me his back. The Joke's on him, though, because I have his phone. I'm tired of being kept in a cage, even if it is gilded.

The internet, it turns out, is a wonderful place. I tried to pace myself, and to stay as little as I could on the phone, but, as it turns out, I am rubbish at being reasonable. I went from tabloids to social media to articles about brain traumas in minutes, with the knowledge of the whole world of a small machine, right there at my fingertips. I searched for celebrities, I searched for schools, I searched for the weird tree that makes me feel vulnerable. In just a few hours, I was able to learn so much, which to me was revolutionary. And then I got a migraine and lost the next few days in bed.

Tyrion nursed me back to health – again – and didn't even mention finding his phone on the floor. I'm guessing he'll have a look at the pages I've looked at, but I don't mind. I have done nothing that should be secret. I just wish he would let me do it next to him, and not by myself like a criminal.

He smiles down at me as he always does when he takes care of me, then shies away from me and sighs.

“I think it's time I tell you the truth, Sansa.”

I frown. “Oh, Gods.” I moan. “You're my dad, aren't you ?”

Of course, I mean it as a joke. I know he's not my father – he would have told me. But his laugh is sad, and right then, I know I'm in for a sob story.

 

 

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED (?)

 


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